


The Shadows On My Wall Don't Sleep

by TheBlueshiftNebula



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fever, Fever Dreams, Hurt Katsuki Yuuri, Hurt/Comfort, Infection, Injury, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Sick Katsuki Yuuri, Sickfic, sick!yuuri, the otayuri is subtle but it's there I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-08 18:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12259383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlueshiftNebula/pseuds/TheBlueshiftNebula
Summary: Between his anxiety and crazy schedule, Yuuri is still struggling to adjust to life in St. Petersburg. The weather, the people, the language, it’s all overwhelming for him. Victor is trying his hardest to help, but between training and coaching, there just isn’t enough time. More often than not, they spend days at a time hardly speaking outside of skating. What was supposed to be a successful pre-season quickly falls apart, and Yuuri spirals into an anxious tailspin.So when Yuuri wakes up one morning feeling miserable, he assumes it’s just another cold and tries to push through it; he refuses to drag Victor down with him.He couldn’t have been more wrong.





	1. I could never find the right way to tell you

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and thanks for checking out my first Yuri on Ice fanfiction (and my first fanfiction in a very long time)! This show got me back into writing, which makes me super happy. I had a good time writing this (even if it's pretty angsty) so I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I love sickfics so much, but I always wanted to see stories that went all the way: the build up, the illness, the recovery. I've always been a big fan of the injury/infection trope in fiction, and I couldn't find any YOI ones that did it, so I decided to just go ahead and write one myself ^_^
> 
> There won't be any graphic descriptions of the injury or anything like that, so please don't worry!
> 
> Also, this story is finished! I have all six chapters written, I'm just in the final stages of editing them (and a 20k one shot might be a bit much, so I was advised to break it up). I'll be updating twice a week, Wednesdays and Sundays.
> 
> Beta'd by my very patient friend [Mumblingcanadian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mumblingcanadian) who has put up with all of my yelling about this story. She's the reason this makes any kind of sense. I hope you enjoy!

Even after living with Victor for three months, Yuuri still found himself dazed by St. Petersburg. It wasn't quite winter yet, but the cold was swift and biting, something Yuuri was woefully unprepared for. The harsh Russian language grated on his ears and got under his skin, leaving him feeling lost and isolated. He wanted to learn Russian, he really did, but between training, competitions, and being with Victor, he just doesn't have time.

Yuuri always feels guilty when he thinks about his time management problems, since Victor has it even worse. Pulling double duty being both coach and competitor keeps him on a tight schedule, and Yuuri isn't sure when he even has time to eat.

In the morning, they would jog to the rink, which was close to Victor's apartment, as a warm up. From there, Yuuri would change into his skates and practice gear, while Victor coached him from the sidelines. After lunch, Victor would train with Yakov, while Yuuri was left to his own devices.

At some point in this routine, Yurio joined him. Since Yakov wanted to devote as much time to Victor as possible, Yurio had to come in earlier in the morning to train with him, which left his afternoon free. At first, Yuuri and Yurio would take turns skating on their side of the rink, but eventually, they began to skate together, giving each other tips and advice. Yuuri isn't sure how it happened, exactly, but he was grateful for it. It was more helpful than skating alone, and Yuuri found himself enjoying his time with Yurio.

So Yuuri tried not to complain, but it was difficult when he was exhausted from a long day of practice. He would find himself looking forward to going home with Victor.

Yuuri can hardly believe his situation. If he could go back ten years, five years, hell, even one year, and tell his younger self about his future, he would have never believed it. Training with, living with, sleeping with...Victor Nikiforov. It was a thought that made Yuuri feel a strange mix of awe and anxiety. How was he supposed to concentrate on whatever they were watching on TV when Victor's arm was so casually slung around him? How was he supposed to sleep, pressed up against Victor's chest, so painfully aware of his presence that Yuuri's heart wouldn't stop hammering? How was he supposed to deal with the fact that he was in a relationship with Victor Nikiforov? It made his chest tighten and his breath all but stop.

How was he supposed to be good enough to be worthy of skating's living legend?

He tried not to think about these things, figuring that, with time, it would become easier, more routine. But even after three months of living with Victor, Yuuri found himself as self conscious as ever. He was happy, of course--so, heartbreakingly happy. But another part of him, the part that whispered in his mind late at night, asked him, _how long will it be before Victor gets tired of you?_ Of his anxieties, his inadequacies, his soul-crushing weakness. Yuuri tried not to dwell on these things.

It didn't help that he and Victor hardly saw each other, as practice picked up in intensity for both of them. Yes, they saw each other as coach and student, but now that they were in an established relationship outside of the rink, they kept their skating time strictly professional. It was honestly a bit of a shock for Yuuri, at first. He was so used to Flirty Coach Victor that he was unprepared for All Business Coach Victor when they moved to Russia. And with Victor's incredibly demanding schedule, there were days where they would only see each other in their apartment in the morning, and then for about an hour in the evening, both so exhausted from practice that they would barely share a few words with each other.

Yuuri tried not to let it make him sad. But a part of him still asked, _what if he's tired of seeing you?_

Their days were routine, which, on one hand, was nice. But the distance between Yuuri and Victor--especially after being together so often in the past year--was beginning to make Yuuri anxious. Some rational part of him knew that Victor wasn't intentionally being distant; after all, he still kissed Yuuri goodnight and hugged him in the morning, but being the nervous wreck Yuuri was, he couldn't help but wonder.

Yuuri knew he should voice his feelings. He knew if he told Victor how he felt, he would feel better. On the other hand, if he brought it into the open, maybe Victor would finally acknowledge that Yuuri was right, and he was tired of him. So Yuuri kept it to himself. Victor had enough going on as it was; he didn't need the extra weight of Yuuri's problems.

These thoughts were weighing him down recently, making him feel heavy and sluggish. Today was a day like any other: they jogged to the rink, and Yuuri was warming up on the ice. Victor, eager to have Yuuri win gold this year, insisted that Yuuri practice his quads more often. Yuuri wasn't in the mood, his thoughts like lead weights in his mind; but he agreed, knowing that perfecting his quads was desperately needed.

"Just start off slow," Victor called from the rink side. "Let me see your form."

Yuuri nodded, skating laps around the ice, being careful to avoid Yurio and Yakov on the other side. He launched into his first jump, a triple axel, coming down hard on his leg, not liking how shaky the landing was. He could hear Victor's sigh, even over the scrape of his blades. "Focus, Yuuri!"

Yuuri winced. He'd been having more and more problems lately, his performance seeming to drop with each practice. He knew he was letting Victor down, that he was wasting his coach's time, and so he was determined to improve. But the dark thoughts were like storm clouds in his head, obscuring his vision and making it hard to think through.

He knew that Victor wanted him to warm up first. Maybe not do any quads at all today, if his shaky landing didn't improve. It wouldn't be the first time.

Clenching his fists, he decided to just _go for it_. What's the worst that could happen?

He started again, picking up more speed.

"Yuuri...." Victor figured out what Yuuri was going to do a second too late. "Wait!"

But Yuuri was already in the air, launching himself into a quad Salchow. As soon as he left the ice, he knew it wasn't right. His balance was off, his jump was all wrong, and the landing--

He fell hard, barely breaking his fall, and felt a sharp sting across his thigh. He cried out in surprise rather than pain, flipping himself over so he was sitting up on the ice.

The fabric covering his left thigh was torn, with a jagged cut across his skin. He must have landed in just the wrong way, and the blade of his recently sharpened skate had cut him.

"Yuuri!" Victor called, alarmed when Yuuri didn't get up right away.

"I'm alright," Yuuri answered, spreading the torn fabric away from the cut. It wasn't very deep, and was barely even bleeding. Yuuri sighed, annoyed at the new hole in his pants. He idly wondered if it would be easier to try and sew it back together, or just buy a new pair.

"Are you sure?" Victor asked, watching as Yuuri pushed himself back onto his feet. Victor's gaze fell to his leg, noticing the rip. ”Did you cut yourself?"

Yuuri sighed again. "It's fine, barely a scratch," he told Victor, annoyed at himself. It was bad enough that he fell, but he did it so spectacularly that he had injured himself, and now Victor was worried. "It's nothing, really."

Victor tsked. "I told you to start off slow." Yuuri flinched slightly. "I'll get the first aid kit." Victor turned and left without waiting for Yuuri's response.

Yuuri scowled, disappointment twisting inside of him. _Can't you even fall properly?_ The dark thoughts he had managed to previously dispel returned with a vengeance, words like _failure_ and _waste of time_ swirling in his head.

The cut was nothing; it didn't even really hurt. He did his best to shove the awful thoughts away, wanting now more than ever to show Victor he was worth his time. Brushing off his pants, he started moving across the ice again. He was determined to get it right this time.

By the time Victor returned, first aid kit in hand, Yuuri was launching into the jump again. Victor watched as Yuuri spun gracefully in the air, landing perfectly on one foot.

"Wow, Yuuri, that was great!" Victor called, startling Yuuri a bit. He hadn't realized Victor had returned. Victor's earlier annoyance at Yuuri seemed to dissipate at the sight of a clean quad. "Can you do it again?"

Yuuri nodded, gearing up and jumping again. Victor watched, putting a gloved hand to his chin. He set the first aid kit down for a moment, moving around the side of the rink to get a better view of Yuuri's jump. He had the right number of rotations this time, but ended up skidding across the ice on the landing. "I think I can see where you're going wrong..."

They decided to break for lunch not long after. The first aid kit sat on the floor by the rink, forgotten. 

* * *

Over the next few days, Yuuri did his best to ignore the anxieties in the back of this mind: the upcoming competitions, his relationship with Victor, the fact that they rarely saw each other outside the rink anymore. For the most part, it worked: Yuuri's quad jumps were starting to come along, and so was the choreography for his upcoming programs. As if Victor's schedule wasn't hectic enough, he was insisting on helping Yuuri create both his short and free programs.

"You're not going to have time!" Yuuri had said when Victor first suggested it.

Victor just smiled at him. "For you, I always have time."

It made Yuuri blush.

Now, though, it made Yuuri worry. Wasn't Victor pushing himself too hard, trying to do too much?

There wasn't anything Yuuri could say to dissuade him, though; when Victor set his mind on something, there wasn't much anyone could do to stop him. But Yuuri couldn't help but notice how Victor was running himself ragged. 

It turns out, though, that Yuuri may have been worrying about the wrong person.

A few days after he was finally able to successfully land the quad in practice, Yuuri woke up feeling awful.

His alarm went off at six, per usual, and the harsh noise of it woke Yuuri up with a sharp pain in his head. Groaning, he turned it off and sat up. Victor was already up, and Yuuri could hear the shower running. He was never a morning person, but he had never felt _this_ bad when waking up (except maybe when he was hung over). They hadn't gone to bed any later than normal the night before, so he couldn't explain why he felt even more tired than usual. He put his head in his hands, rubbing his throbbing temples.

He wondered, suddenly, if he was getting sick.

Dread washed over him, warm and slow. Not _again_.

He had been living in this country for three months, and had been sick three separate times. He wasn't sure if it was living in a brand new city, or pushing himself too hard, too fast--probably a combination of both--but he'd come down with an awful cold each month. Being sick meant missing practice, something he couldn't afford to do. The last time, he'd missed a whole week while Victor insisted he stay in bed, and he couldn't bear the thought of it happening again.

He heard the water turn off in the bathroom, and a minute later, Victor emerged, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Yuuri couldn't help but stare.

Victor smiled at him, coming over to the bed. "Good morning, love." He bent down to kiss him.

Yuuri pulled back, turning his face away from Victor's. Victor frowned, eyes full of hurt. "What's wrong?"

Yuuri ran a hand through his hair, which was a mess from sleep. He didn't want to tell Victor, as if talking about it made it real. But he saw the hurt in Victor's eyes, and he'd rather be sick for the rest of his life than hurt Victor's feelings. "I think I might be getting sick again."

Victor's expression morphed into one of sympathy. "Ah, my poor Yuuri. Does your throat hurt?"

Much to Yuuri's surprise, his throat felt fine. A little dry from the heated air in the apartment, but nothing that indicated his normal progression of symptoms. His previous illnesses always started with a sore throat, but not this time.

He shook his head. "I just feel....off," Yuuri said. "I'm fine, though. But if I am getting sick, I don't want you to catch it, so no kissing."

Victor huffed a laugh. "You know we sleep in the same bed, right?" Yuuri's heart jumped a bit at the reminder. "Besides, I'm not worried. I've never caught it from you before."

He was right. Despite living with Yuuri and his own insane schedule leaving him exhausted all the time, Victor had never caught Yuuri's colds. But still, Yuuri wasn't taking any chances.

"We'll just take it easy at practice today," Victor said, turning away from the bed to his very generous closet and dropping his towel on the floor. Yuuri stared openly as Victor turned slightly, looking at Yuuri over his shoulder. "See something you like?" Victor asked with a sly smirk. 

Yuuri blushed a deep red. Because, yes, yes he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed chapter one! Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated :)
> 
> Check out my [Tumblr blog](https://yuuri-nikiforever.tumblr.com/) and feel free to talk to me :) It's my fairly new Yuri on Ice side blog so I hope you stop by!


	2. What would it take for you to notice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has commented and left kudos! It really makes my day :)

Victor wasn't worried about Yuuri--at least, not yet.

He knew Yuuri wasn't feeling well, but he figured they had at least a day or two before he was totally out of commission. It was unfortunate that Yuuri was getting sick so often, but Victor didn't really mind. In fact, he was a little charmed at the idea of being a caretaker. After living by himself for so long, Victor liked the idea of taking care of someone else for a change. So each time Yuuri got sick, Victor showered him with care and attention, despite Yuuri's concerns about Victor getting sick.

So Victor tried not to worry, even when the jog to the rink--normally a simple warm up--left Yuuri completely winded. Victor wanted to insist that Yuuri skip practice today, but he knew better than to even try to bring it up. So when they made it to the rink, he pretended not to notice how Yuuri was bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. His illness seemed to be catching up to him faster than usual.

They made their way to the side of the rink for Yuuri to change into his skates. They heard Yakov's barking voice calling to Yurio from where he was practicing on the other side of the ice.

Skates laced, Yuuri stepped onto the ice while Victor took his position by the side of the rink. They had been doing this for long enough that Yuuri knew the warm up routine without Victor having to tell him.

Yuuri was only halfway through his second set of laps when he felt his breath start to come harder and harder. His leg hurt and his lungs started to burn, but he pushed it aside to finish his laps. He hoped Victor hadn't noticed.

But even though Victor may have been an inexperienced coach, he did know Yuuri. Victor called him over.

"Are you sure you're ok, Yuuri?" he asked when Yuuri came to a wobbly stop in front of him.

"I'm fine," Yuuri said, trying to hide how out of breath he was. "Just.....tired, I guess."

Victor frowned. "Did you not sleep well?"

Yuuri shrugged. "I guess not." Truth be told, Yuuri didn't think his sleep was any better or worse than normal. But he didn't want Victor to worry, didn't want to be someone who let something as small as a cold stop him from practicing.

Victor was silent for a moment, then, "Take a break, and then let's run through the choreography we have so far. I had some ideas for the step sequence I wanted to run by you..."

* * *

By the time Yuuri began his training with Yurio, he felt utterly spent. He had missed every single jump with Victor, and messed up the new step sequence more often than not. Victor wasn't happy, he could tell, but didn't say much. Yuuri was tired and frustrated at himself. His leg throbbed, probably from falling so many times, and sweat stuck his bangs to his face and ran down his back, making him feel too warm and shivering cold at the same time.

He almost wished he didn't have to practice with Yurio, but he didn't want to cut it short just because he was feeling poorly. Every skater had to work through illness now and again, so he resolved to push himself through it.

When he stumbled over his skates for the hundredth time, Yurio looked up at him through his blond hair. "What's up with you today? You're even more of a mess than usual."

Yuuri winced, mostly because he was right. "Just tired today." It wasn't a complete lie; he'd been exhausted since getting to the rink. But he was still getting sick of saying it.

Yurio looked like he didn't quite believe him, but didn't push it. "Whatever. Just try to actually sleep tonight. I can't practice with you like this."

Yuuri wasn't sure if this was Yurio's way of being concerned or not; he was too worn-out and fed up with everything to try to decipher Yuri's teenage mood. Instead, he just nodded.

* * *

Victor was leaning against the side of the rink, still on the ice, taking a break. His chest heaved with the exertion of Yakov's drills. Even though he tried to stay somewhat in shape during his time in Japan, there was no doubt that he wasn't in top skating condition just yet. Yakov was furious that he essentially had to start over, leaving little time to actually come up with and practice a routine for the upcoming season. Victor, however, wasn't worried; his head was spinning with ideas for jumps and step sequences for both himself and Yuuri. Inspiration came easier to him in the past year than it had since he was a teenager, when he was fresh faced and eager to take on the world.

He smiled, knowing where the inspiration came from. Watching Yuuri skate had sent a thrill through him that he hadn't felt in a long time, and now, the idea of competing alongside him made him positively giddy.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he noticed Yurio leaving for the day, who had likely been at the rink since before the sun had come up. Victor felt a twinge of guilt for taking so much of Yakov's time, but it made him feel better when he saw Yurio training with Yuuri in the afternoon.

Normally when Yurio went home, Yuuri stayed on the ice, practicing step sequences or simple jumps. Today, however, he was nowhere to be seen; the only ones on the ice were some of the juniors.

Victor pushed off from the side of the rink, looking around, finally spotting Yuuri sitting on the bench, arms resting on his knees, head hanging down.

Worry spiked anew in Victor; he knew Yuuri wasn't feeling a hundred percent today, and quickly made his way to the side of the rink, slipping on his skate guards. In a few steps he was sitting beside Yuuri, putting a hand on his back while Yuuri gasped for breath.

"Yuuri, why don't we call it a day? We can go home once I finish up with Yakov." He fully expected Yuuri to protest, but instead his shoulders sagged and he nodded. Now Victor knew Yuuri was sick. He would need to make sure Yuuri went to bed early that night.

Victor put his arm around Yuuri, pulling him to his side. Yuuri relaxed into the touch, leaning his head on Victor's shoulder. "How about you go get changed? I'll meet you back here soon." Yuuri nodded, eyes closed. Suddenly, as if remembering where he was, his eyes snapped open and he pushed himself off of Victor's shoulder.

"Victor, no!" he said harshly, turning away. "You might get sick."

Victor chuckled. "Don't worry about me, love. Let's just get you home, yeah?"

* * *

By the time they got home, Yuuri was ready to collapse.

It was barely into the evening, but the sky was already dark--a testament to winter's approach. Yuuri wondered if he would ever get used to Russia.

Obviously, his body was still adjusting. Though they were in the warm apartment, Yuuri was freezing. Victor had ordered him to the shower, insisting that he would feel better afterwards.

When he got out of the shower, he had to admit that he did feel a bit better. He smelled Victor cooking something in the kitchen, but found that despite their long day of practice, he wasn't hungry at all. In fact, all Yuuri wanted to do was go to bed and sleep for the rest of his life.

He knew Victor wouldn't have that, though, and after getting dressed, he dragged himself to the kitchen.

Victor was standing over a pot of....something. It smelled good, but Yuuri wasn't interested. By now, he had accepted the fact that he was getting sick again, and was still deathly afraid of passing whatever it was he had onto Victor. Even so, he wanted to curl up with Victor in their bed. It was too often that they would come home in the evening, eat something, and go straight to bed, not even taking the time to cuddle. Lately, Yuuri missed Victor's touch even more intensely than normal.

He sat himself down on the couch, wrapping his arms around himself. More than anything he just wanted to _be_ with Victor, to just touch him, even a little bit. But that would mean risking Victor's health, and Yuuri absolutely refused to do that. So he resigned himself to being alone.

Yuuri didn't want to say anything, either. Victor would think he was being clingy, and would hate it.

A bowl appeared in Yuuri's vision, and he took it without a word. Victor sat next to him with his own bowl, and they ate in silence while watching TV. Yuuri was able to eat most of it before his stomach churned in protest.

Victor cleared their bowls and came back to the couch. They sat side by side, not quite touching, and the distance hurt Yuuri (even if it was his own fault). He tucked his legs under him and tried to resist the urge to reach out for Victor.

Victor seemed to sense Yuuri's reluctance, and kept his distance. Of course, Victor was used to this dance: whenever Yuuri was getting sick, he'd stubbornly avoid any physical contact between them. So they sat, without touching, and dealt with it.

That is, until the exhaustion from the day caught up to Yuuri. The TV show they were watching was in Russian, but it had English subtitles that Yuuri was finding harder and harder to focus on. Hard as he tried to fight it, he found himself nodding off, unable to fight the pull of sleep.

Victor jumped a little when Yuuri's head landed on his shoulder with a thump. He looked down, seeing Yuuri close his eyes and surrender to his fatigue. Victor smiled a little when he heard Yuuri's deep breaths.

He ran a hand through Yuuri's beautiful, black hair, which was getting quite long. Victor absolutely adored it. Yuuri burrowed a little further into Victor's shoulder in his sleep.

Victor would be happy to stay like that all night. But his shoulder was starting to burn, and he knew Yuuri's neck would hurt in the morning if he stayed that way much longer.

In one smooth motion, he turned and scooped Yuuri up in his arms. Victor felt a rush of warm affection when Yuuri instinctively curled up into his chest. If he was awake, Yuuri would no doubt be in a panic. He was so scared of making Victor sick, and while Victor thought he was being a little ridiculous, he nevertheless felt grateful that someone cared enough to be worried.

Victor tucked him into bed before undressing and slipping under the covers. It had been a long day--hell, a long couple of months, if he was being honest--and he followed Yuuri into sleep easily.

* * *

When Yuuri woke up the next morning, he somehow managed to feel even worse than he did the day before.

His head pounded, skull throbbing along to the beat of his pulse. The noise of the shower was loud in his ears, and his leg still hurt from falling constantly the day before.

Groaning, he sat up--and then fell back into his pillow as a wave of dizziness crashed over him. He was just so _tired,_ even more so than when he went to bed the night before.

He knew he was coming down with something, although he wasn't sure what anymore. Normally at this point in his illness he would wake up coughing and terribly congested, but his throat was fine and his breathing was easy. He might have been worried if his mind wasn't so fuzzy. His eyes fluttered closed, and he was drifting off back to sleep...

...when suddenly he was being shaken awake. "Going back to sleep already? We'll be late for practice."

Yuuri opened his eyes to see Victor looking down on him. Yuuri blinked, trying to get the image to focus, but without his glasses, it was an impossible task.

He realized he had fallen asleep; Victor was already dressed in his warm up gear. With a mumbled " 'm up", he managed to push himself into a sitting position, and the dizziness hit him anew, reminding him of why he didn't try getting up the first time. The pounding in his head was making itself known again, and Yuuri groaned as he held his head in his hands.

A cool hand cupped his cheek, and Yuuri leaned into the touch. It helped his headache, just a little bit.

The hand left his cheek and moved to his forehead, pushing his unruly bangs aside. "Yuuri, I think you have a fever." Victor sounded worried, rubbing Yuuri's back with his other hand.

"I'm fine," Yuuri insisted, though he wasn't entirely convinced himself.

The mattress shifted as Victor's weight left the bed. Yuuri knew he had to get up; they were probably already late as it was, and he hadn't even showered yet. Yakov would yell at them and Yuuri would have to explain that it was his fault. But the very thought of standing up sent nausea rolling through him.

The bed dipped again as Victor sat back down, something in his hand. "Open up, Yuuri."

Yuuri obliged, and felt the familiar poke of the thermometer under his tongue. Victor always took his temperature when he got sick.

It beeped, and Victor gently removed it from Yuuri's mouth. "101," he read out loud. He pursed his lips. "Not too high, but you're definitely staying home today."

"I can't," Yuuri protested weakly. He just _couldn't_ miss any more practice; he'd been sick too many times and he'd missed so many days already.

Victor gently pushed him by his shoulders so he was lying down again. "You _will,_ " Victor said firmly. "If you go out on the ice like this, you'll only end up hurting yourself. Then what?"

Yuuri grimaced, hearing the logic in his words. "But..."

"No buts!" Victor crossed his arms, ever the stern coach. "If you take it easy for a few days, you'll be feeling better and back on the ice before you know it."

Yuuri sank back into the pillows, defeated. Victor could see the disappointment written across Yuuri's face, saw his lip quiver as he turned away. It broke Victor's heart.

"A few days won't hurt, Yuuri," he said honestly. "You've been pushing yourself too hard lately."

Yuuri sighed. "Ok," he agreed. "Just for today."

Victor knew that was the best he could hope for. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No!" Yuuri practically yelled, turning back towards Victor with wide, frightened eyes. "No, you can't miss practice because of me. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

Victor hesitated, despite expecting this kind of response. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Victor. Please don't ruin your schedule because of me."

Victor leaned down over Yuuri, who pulled away. Victor reached out a hand to stop him, and placed a soft kiss on top of Yuuri's bed head. He could already feel the heat radiating from his fever. "Alright, my love. But call me if you need anything, ok?"

"I will, Vitya." Yuuri gave Victor a small smile, and Victor's heart melted in his chest.

Before he left, he put a box of tissues and a tall glass of water on the table beside Yuuri's side of the bed. He moved the garbage can next to him as well, just in case. Yuuri had already fallen back asleep, chest rising and falling peacefully.

Victor was still concerned; every other time Yuuri had been sick, there had never been a fever. Now, as Victor listened to his breathing, there didn't seem to be any congestion. He frowned, not sure what to make of this, but decided to heed Yuuri's wishes and head to practice.

On his way out the door, he passed Makkachin, giving the poodle some goodbye belly rubs. "Keep an eye on him today, ok, Makka?"

Makkachin barked softly, as if agreeing. Victor smiled, ruffled her fur once more, and headed out the door.

* * *

As Victor warmed up around the rink, he was more than a little surprised when Yurio skated up to him, his blond hair tied in a loose ponytail (but his long bangs still hung in his face--Victor wondered how he saw anything through that sheet of hair).

"Where's the pig today?" Yurio asked, looking down at his skates in an attempt to seem nonchalant.

Victor smiled crookedly at him. "Yurio! Are you telling me you actually miss practicing with Yuuri?"

Yurio's head snapped up at Victor, scowling. "Of course not! I couldn't give two shits about him."

Victor's smile didn't waver. "Then why are you asking?"

Yurio flushed and looked away, scowl still firmly in place. "Since your useless ass is taking up all of Yakov's time, I need to practice with _someone_." Yurio fidgeted with the end of his shirt, the pose striking Victor as so very fifteen of him ( _sixteen now_ , Victor reminded himself). "And practicing with him is not...terrible...I guess."

"You can always practice with Georgi."

Yurio scoffed. "That head case? He's even more of a disaster than you and the pig put together."

Victor sighed, ignoring the insult. "Yuuri's not feeling well, so he's taking a day off."

"He's sick _again?_ " Yurio asked, exasperated. "What's this, the fourth time in like three months?"

Victor smirked at Yurio again. "You noticed? I never knew you cared so much, Yurio."

Yurio groaned and rolled his eyes. "Why am I even talking to you?" He skated away in a teenage huff.

Victor smiled. He'd have to tell Yuuri about this when he got home.

* * *

When Yuuri woke up, he didn't know what time it was, only that Victor had left for practice and he felt like absolute garbage.

He groaned, remembering his conversation with Victor in the morning. He couldn't believe he was going to miss out on even more practice, all because his body was letting him down-- _again_. He didn't know what it was about Russia that made his body shut down so often, but he was getting tired of it.

Turning on his side, he winced as pain shot through his leg. Just another reminder about his failures from practice the previous day. He hadn't mentioned it to Victor, and he didn't need to. His body sometimes randomly aches from practice, and this is no different. No reason to give Victor another reason to worry.

He felt useless, lying in bed while Victor and the others were practicing. Like he should be. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and he wiped them away in frustration. He knew he was being irrational, but he was just so tired of being weak, physically and mentally. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before Victor realized what a mistake their relationship was--both professional and personal.

Yuuri sniffed, trying to stave off the tears. The apartment was dark, and felt empty without Victor. A sudden pang of loneliness made his heart hurt. Despite his attempts to keep Victor from getting sick, he desperately wanted to feel Victor's arms around him. Lately they didn't have time to do much outside of the rink, and their intimate moments were few and far between. But now, sick and lonely, he felt the absence of Victor's touch more profoundly than ever.

Makkachin shifted on the bed, keeping Yuuri company. He reached out for her, feeling the soft, curly fur on her back and ran a hand through it, trying to calm down.

He stayed like that for a while, feeling miserable and tired and lonely, head still pounding. It was cold in the bedroom, and he pulled the blankets tighter around him. Eventually, he fell into an uneasy sleep, hoping Victor would be home soon.

* * *

When Victor arrived back at the apartment, he was greeted by complete darkness. It was well into the evening, Yakov insisting he do an extra set of cool down exercises at the end of practice. "You're so out of shape, Vitya," he had said, scowling. "You'll hurt yourself unless you cool down properly."

Victor knew Yakov was just looking out for him, but he wasn't _that_ out of shape. A part of him idly wondered if Yakov was drilling him so hard to make sure he never tried to leave skating again. The thought made him laugh a little.

Makkachin came barreling over to greet him, whining urgently. She must not have been let out all day.

"Just a second, Makka," he said to the poodle. "Let me check on Yuuri first, then we'll go out."

Makkachin sat obediently by the door, tail still wagging wildly.

Victor felt his way to the nearest light switch, turning it on. The kitchen lights blinded him momentarily, and he made his way to the bedroom.

The light from the kitchen was enough for Victor to see into the bedroom. He saw Yuuri, asleep on his side. He also saw the untouched glass of water, the unused tissue box, and the empty trashcan.

"Oh, Yuuri." Obviously Yuuri had been asleep all day, not waking to even eat or drink anything (or let poor Makkachin out to pee).

He debated between waking Yuuri or letting Makkachin out when another whine came from the hallway, louder this time. He sighed, the decision seemingly being made for him.

Victor grabbed Makkachin's leash, slipping on it and opening the door. "Just a quick walk, ok Makka?"

Makkachin barked happily as she and Victor walked down the stairs.

Victor figured a quick walk around the block would be fine; Yuuri had been asleep all day, so surely another half an hour couldn't hurt.

The cold air swirled around them, and it bit at Victor's face and throat. He thought about Yuuri, as he usually did these days. Their schedules were only getting more and more hectic with the upcoming season. Victor felt the stress more acutely than normal, being both Yuuri's coach and competitor. Despite their many practice sessions, he felt like he and Yuuri rarely saw each other, which may not be helping their budding relationship.

Once he'd gathered up the courage to ask Yuuri to move in with him, and with Yuuri agreeing with no hesitation whatsoever, he'd just assumed everything would fall into place. And in a way, it had: they fell into an easy routine with each other, but there was so much going on all the time that Victor felt like maybe their personal relationship was being neglected.

Makkachin stopped to pee--finally--and Victor sighed, thinking about what he could do for both them. But he had a job to do, first and foremost: to get Yuuri a gold medal. This would be the job he would focus on for now. Everything else would fall into place afterwards, he was sure.

Feeling reassured, he brought Makkachin around the block, coming back to the apartment. He could tell she wasn't happy at the short walk, but Victor wanted to check on Yuuri.

They climbed the stairs to Victor's apartment--or was it his and Yuuri's apartment now?--and opened the door, Victor taking Makkachin's leash off. She bounded back into the bedroom to jump on the bed again. Victor hung up his coat and took off his shoes, following her.

Yuuri was still asleep, facing away from the door, despite Makkachin settling onto the bed next to him. Victor went to his side, shaking his shoulder. "Yuuri," he said softly. "Yuuri, you need to wake up."

Yuuri moaned, rolling over to face Victor. His eyes opened slowly, looking hazy. "Victor?"

"Hey, sleepy head," Victor said affectionately. Even with messy hair and glazed eyes, Victor thought Yuuri looked unfairly attractive.

Yuuri blinked rapidly a few times, trying to wake up fully. "What time is it?"

Victor pulled out his phone. "Almost nine."

Yuuri sat up abruptly--then fell back into the pillows. His head was still pounding, and the dizziness he felt in the morning hadn't faded. "At _night?_ "

Victor watched as Yuuri sagged into the pillows, and gently brushed his dark bangs out of his eyes. "You've been asleep all day, Yuuri. You must have needed it."

Yuuri just nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and lifting a hand to his pounding head.

"How do you feel now?" Victor asked, trying not to let his unease show.

Yuuri hesitated. "Worse," he finally said. "Even though I slept all day..."

Victor looked to the still full glass of water by his bed. "You haven't had anything to eat or drink today. Does your head hurt?" Yuuri nodded, wincing when it aggravated the pain. "No surprise there, you're probably dehydrated. I'll bring you something."

"No," Yuuri protested. "I've been in bed all day, I want to get up for a bit." He pushed the covers back, shivering.

Victor noticed. "Let me take your temperature again first."

He turned and made his way to the bathroom. Seeing as Yuuri had slept all day, he would probably feel better once he had some food and water. By tomorrow morning, Victor expected significant improvement, if not a full recovery. He was already considering how to make up for the lost day of training, trying not to think about the huge amount of work he was creating for himself.

He came back to the bedroom with the thermometer, putting it under Yuuri's tongue. It beeped, and Victor took it out to read it: 101.9. Was that higher than this morning? Victor was appalled that he couldn't remember.

Well, fevers tended to be higher in the evening. Right?

"Let's get some food into you," Victor said. "I bet tomorrow you'll be right as rain."

* * *

Yuuri padded into the kitchen, swaddled in one of Victor's old sweaters. It was too big on him, and warm. Yuuri pulled the fabric closer, drinking in Victor's smell. It was nice, but didn't completely stop the chill that had seeped its way into his bones.

He plopped down in a chair in front of the kitchen table. There was a fresh glass of water and a steaming mug of tea waiting for him. He took the water first, drinking slowly, suddenly realizing how thirsty he was. Victor was rummaging around in the fridge, looking for something simple to make. "What do you want for dinner?"

The thought of food made Yuuri's stomach turn. "Not hungry..."

Victor _tsked._ "Ah-ah, Yuuri, you need to eat something." He pulled out a bag from the fridge. "How about I make you some toast?"

Yuuri nodded. He could handle toast. Probably.

"How was practice today?" he asked Victor.

"Ah, busy! I had another idea for a step sequence to run by Yakov..."

Yuuri finished his water while Victor talked, moving on to the tea. He wrapped his hands around it, the warmth seeping into his still shivering hands. It felt amazing.

He tried to focus on what Victor was saying, but the fog in his head was still thick. He heard Victor talk about practicing with Georgi at one point, maybe? It was hard to Yuuri to tell. He felt a pang of something....jealousy? Maybe it was simply more anxiety of missing practice....but he was annoyed at the idea of another skater taking up any of Victor's precious time.

Yuuri was being unreasonable; he knew that. But every time Victor mentioned a friend of his in Russia, it reminded Yuuri of how isolated he was. Especially now, cooped up at home.

He was broken out of his thoughts when Victor slid the plate of toast in front of him. Yuuri blinked, realizing that Victor had stopped talking. "Thanks," Yuuri mumbled.

Sighing, Victor sat on the other side of the table, rolling his shoulders. "It was weird, having so much time to myself at the rink today! I got really far with Yakov on my upcoming routine." Victor smiled, obviously pleased at his own progress.

The words made the toast in Yuuri's mouth taste like ash. That's right: without Yuuri to monopolize his time, Victor had more opportunities to work on his comeback. Guilt twisted his stomach even further, and he put down his half finished slice.

"Oh, Yurio was asking about you today."

This snapped Yuuri out of his spiraling thoughts. "Really?" he asked, incredulous.

"It was adorable! He wanted to know where you were. I think he missed practicing with you." Victor laughed. "He's like a kitten who thinks he's a tiger."

Yuuri chuckled a bit, and tried to eat more of his toast. Eventually, it was too much, and he pushed it away. Victor pursed his lips, unhappy. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Not really," Yuuri said, reaching out for his mug of tea and sipping it. Despite being in bed all day, his body felt heavy and his eyes were tired. The tea was helping the chill, though his hands still shook.

Victor sighed. "Make sure you eat breakfast tomorrow." Before Yuuri could stop him, he grabbed Yuuri's plate and took a bite from his unfinished piece of toast.

Yuuri thought his heart was going to stop. " _Victor!_ " he exclaimed. "What are you doing? You'll get sick!"

Victor just smiled. "Can't waste perfectly good toast. I didn't even burn it this time!"

Yuuri groaned, anxiety constricting in his chest. The last thing either of them needed was for Victor to get sick--especially with whatever it was Yuuri had. He had expected to wake up with at least a cough, but there was nothing except that awful, run down feeling. His leg still hurt from falling the day before, too, which only added to Yuuri's misery (and reminded him of his numerous failures).

"You worry too much, love," Victor said casually, not realizing how much of a criticism it sounded to Yuuri. Of course he worried too much, of course he would become annoying about it.

Yuuri gripped his mug harder, his mood dropping again. "I just wanna go back to bed," he said quietly.

Victor looked at him questioningly, but didn't make a comment. "Ok. I'll meet you there soon."

Yuuri nodded, finishing the last of his tea and getting up, shuffling back to the bedroom. He climbed back in the bed, still wrapped in Victor's sweater. He pulled the blankets up around him, shivering despite the many layers piled on top of him. Closing his eyes, he willed the thoughts of _annoying_ and _you worry too much_ to go away, slipping back into the fever haze of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated and encouraged! 
> 
> Quick note about Celsius and Fahrenheit: even though I live in Canada with the metric system, I always remember my parents measuring temperatures when it comes to fevers in Fahrenheit, so I apologize to anyone who was confused. For the record:
> 
> 101 F = 38.3 C  
> 101.9 F = 38.8 C
> 
> Hit me up on [Tumblr](https://yuuri-nikiforever.tumblr.com/) if you wanna chat about Yuri on Ice or what you had for breakfast or whatever


	3. I have nothing left to give

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway there!
> 
> I want to give a big shout-out to every single person who has commented, left kudos, and bookmarked this story so far. You have no idea how much it all means to me.
> 
> Also, I find that I bounce back and forth between "Yurio" and "Yuri" for Yuri P. a lot in this story. I hope it still flows well. For the record:
> 
> Yurio/Yuri (with one u) = Yuri P.  
> Yuuri (two u's) = Yuuri K.
> 
> Also quick warning for some mild vomit mention (no description, but it happens)

Victor woke up before his alarm the next morning, per usual. He sat up, stretching his arms behind his head, feeling the familiar pops and clicks of his protesting joints. Ah, he was getting old.

He looked over at Yuuri, still asleep, wrapped up in most of the blankets and Victor's old sweater. Victor smiled at how cute Yuuri looked, like a baby animal. His smile faded when he saw the sheen of sweat on his brow, and the slight tremor that wracked his body.

Victor debated what to do. He decided to hop in the shower first and let Yuuri sleep a bit longer. Twenty minutes later, he was dressed in his warm up clothes and shaking Yuuri awake.

"Yuuri, love, I know it's early, but I want to take your temperature again." Yuuri groaned, swatting Victor's hand away and turning on his other side. Victor would have laughed, but he was growing more concerned, putting a hand to Yuuri's forehead and feeling the heat there. He was burning up.

He had the thermometer ready this time. "Yuuri, I just need you to wake up for a few minutes, ok?"

Yuuri groaned, but turned back to face Victor and opened his eyes. They were unfocused, seeming to look past Victor, but he obediently opened his mouth.

When the thermometer beeped, Victor took it out, reading the numbers. 102.8. Higher than last night.

The fever made Victor nervous. It must have shown on his face, because Yuuri's groggy voice was asking, "Is it bad?"

Victor had fully expected Yuuri to be better today--maybe not a hundred percent, but at least improving. This...this wasn't good. He was definitely getting worse. "How do you feel, Yuuri?"

Yuuri seemed to think about it. "Tired," he said finally. "And cold."

Victor frowned. "Is that it? How's your throat?"

"Throat's fine," Yuuri mumbled. He didn't sound congested, either. "Can I go back to sleep now, Vitya?"

Victor's frown deepened. After being sick three times since he moved to Russia, Yuuri's symptoms became easy to track. The last time, Victor had been able to predict how Yuuri would be feeling down to the day. This, however, was different. Much different. Victor wasn't sure it was just a cold anymore. "I'm going to stay home today. I'm worried about you."

"What? No!" This seemed to shake Yuuri out of his grogginess, propping himself up on his elbows. "No, you _can't_ miss practice. I'm fine, I'll just sleep it off."

His anxiety seemed to snap him into coherency, which eased Victor's concerns--just a little. "Yuuri..."

" _No,_ Victor, just...." Yuuri covered his eyes with his hand, and his lip quivered. Victor's eyes widened, shocked. "Please don't hold yourself back because of me. I can't...." Yuuri's voice broke. "I can't take it."

Yuuri sounded like he was on the verge of tears. Victor's hands fluttered up to Yuuri's face, horrified. "No, no, my love," he said softly, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs across Yuuri's cheeks. "You have never held me back, you know that."

Yuuri sniffed, moving his hand away from his face, scrubbing a bit at his eyes. "Please, go to practice. I promise I'll be fine."

Victor pulled Yuuri into his chest, wrapping his arms around him. He felt Yuuri burrow into his shirt, clutching the fabric with his hands. The heat of Yuuri's fever radiated through the thin material of Victor's warm up shirt. It only added to Victor's unease. "If that's what you want, I will." They stayed like that for a moment, until Victor pulled back, gripping Yuuri's shoulders. "But text me when you wake up, ok? And let me know how you're feeling. Take your temperature, too. And make sure to drink something as soon as you wake up."

Yuuri nodded at the onslaught of information, eyes fluttering as he fought to stay awake. "I will."

Victor gently pushed Yuuri back into bed, pulling the covers around him and kissing him on his forehead. His lips tingled slightly in response to the heat there. Yuuri sighed contentedly, already slipping back into sleep.

Heading to the front door, Victor grabbed his skating bag, put on his shoes, and took one last look towards the bedroom, anxiety twisting in his gut. The fact that Yuuri hadn't protested at all about staying home today told Victor just how sick Yuuri was. Something told him not to go, even if it would upset Yuuri. But eventually he turned, opened the door, and left for the rink.

* * *

Yuuri woke up at some point that afternoon with no idea of what day it was.

Hard as he tried to wrack his brain, he couldn't remember. Was it Thursday? Friday? He had no idea.

This should have worried him, but he was too busy feeling like shit.

He turned over in the bed, and felt his shirt sticking to his back with sweat. _Ugh,_ he felt so gross. When was the last time he took a shower? He couldn't remember that, either. It had most likely been a while, though. Victor would probably leave him if he saw how gross Yuuri was.

 _Victor_...Yuuri reached a hand across the bed, feeling the cold emptiness where Victor should have been. Where was he? Did he already leave? Did he decide Yuuri wasn't worth his time? Tears filled Yuuri's eyes, irrational and sudden, and he let them slide down his cheek.

At some point, he slipped back into unconsciousness, and when he awoke, he felt even more disoriented than before. He sat up, immediately regretting it when the room titled to one side. But for some reason, he was determined to get up and take a shower.

He swung his legs off the bed and stood, grabbing the bedside table for support as his shaking legs threatened to give out under him. He eventually made his way to the wall next to the bed, placing a hand on it to keep his balance. One hand on the wall, he slowly made his way to the bathroom. Idly, he wondered if he should have put on his glasses; that probably would have helped. But they were all the way in the bedroom. To Yuuri, they might as well have been on another planet.

He stripped off his sweaty clothes, shivering hard. Russia was always so _cold_. He couldn't remember what it was like to be warm.

He turned the shower on, cranking up the heat. It didn't take long for the steam to fill the room and fog up the mirror.

As soon as Yuuri stepped into the shower, he knew he had made a mistake, despite the blissfully warm water hitting his skin. The steam seemed to be fogging up his head, and the shower walls slid in and out of focus. But he was finally in the shower, and dammit, he was going to make it work. He tilted his face into the water and allowed the feeling of finally, _finally_ being warm to dominate his senses.

He had just managed to rinse the shampoo out of his hair when his vision went black for a full second. Long enough to leave him swaying under the water, leaning against the slippery wall. Even his delirious mind knew that it was time to get out.

He reluctantly turned the water off and carefully stepped out. The air in the bathroom seemed to be even colder after the warm shower, and he shivered so hard his teeth chattered.

Wrapping his towel around himself, he sat on top of the toilet, trying to control the shaking of his body. The water on his body felt more like ice, so he tried to quickly pat himself dry. He stumbled into the bedroom, which was freezing compared to the bathroom. What was it with Russia in winter? Was it even winter? Yuuri wasn't sure what month it was.

But the frigid air of the room snapped him awake--or as awake as he could be in his current state, the haze in his mind lingering. His hands were shaking so badly that he almost couldn't open the closet door. He managed to put on a pair of boxers and a shirt before he was rushing back into the bathroom, a sudden wave of nausea hitting him.

He got to the toilet and was thankfully able to lift the lid before emptying the meager contents of his stomach, heaving so hard it hurt, even after he had nothing left to throw up. He collapsed back onto the floor, trying to catch his breath. His heart was beating hard, and fast. As he sat back, his leg brushed against the base of the toilet, and he was abruptly reminded of the throbbing pain shooting through him.

He had been so busy feeling miserable everywhere else that his brain hadn't processed the pain in his leg until now, when it came back with a vengeance.

He reached up to the sink beside the toilet, using it to pull himself up and looked in the mirror. Wiping away the fog on it, he winced when he saw the fuzzy image of his reflection.

Despite just coming out of the shower, his face was starkly pale, making the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. He was still shivering, but he saw sweat on his brow. How did that make sense? How could he be hot and cold at the same time?

Yuuri forced his fever-addled brain to focus. He tried to concentrate on the source of the pain: his left leg hurt, but not so badly that he couldn't put his weight on it. He wiped away more of the steam on the mirror, but it wasn't quite long enough to reach past his thighs. He poked at his leg, not sure where the sting was coming from. He ran a hand over his thigh, and a sharp, stabbing pain ran through him.

Found it.

Gingerly, he rolled up the end of his boxers to expose the source of the pain and--

 _Oh_.

Oh no.

Yuuri's head finally cleared long enough to recognize what he was seeing.

The cut on his leg from practice...how long ago had that happened? It was an angry red, the skin around it inflamed. Dark red streaks were running up his thigh from the cut, and when he put his hand over it, it radiated heat. He touched it again and yelped as the pain flared up anew. 

It wasn't a deep cut, but it was badly infected. He remembers Victor getting the first aid kit when it happened, but...what happened after that? Yuuri's head was swimming, and he couldn't remember.

Some small anxious part of him, however, relaxed a bit. _At least I'm not going to make Victor sick,_ he thought.

But this...this was bad.

His head was still swimming, from the steam in the bathroom and the shock of seeing his infected wound and the feeling of dread mixed with a small amount of relief--

Yuuri's hands slipped from the side of the sink as he collapsed in a heap on the floor, unconscious.

* * *

The only reason Victor wasn't glued to his phone was Yakov's very elaborate threats on his life.

He had asked Yuuri to text him when he woke up, so when lunchtime came and went and he still hadn't heard from him, his worry returned with a vengeance. 

He'd sent a few texts, but hadn't received a reply. During lunch, he'd called, and his heartbeat quickened when the call went to voicemail.

Yuuri was insisting that he was fine, that he just needed rest, but Victor suspected that he had been downplaying how bad he'd been feeling. He was convinced now that it wasn't just another cold. A cold didn't produce the burning fever Yuuri had. He just didn't know what else it could be.

Victor skated lazily across the ice, lost in his own thoughts, until Yakov yelled at him, sharper than before.

He jumped, looking over at his coach with a guilty expression. "Sorry, what?"

Yakov pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. "What's the point of you being here, Vitya, if you left your brain at home?"

Victor sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, Yakov," he said. "I'm just--"

A flash of movement outside the rink caught Victor's attention: he turned and saw a blue hooded figure headed out the door.

Without warning, Victor skated quickly to the edge of the ice--eliciting another yell of angry Russian from Yakov--to catch the boy before he left for the day. "Yurio!"

Yuri froze, shoulders tense, before turning to look at Victor, bag slung over his shoulder. "What?"

Victor tried to give his most winning smile, but he felt it crack a bit at the edges. "Yurio, will you do me a huuuuge favour?"

Yuri narrowed his eyes at him, saying nothing.

Victor took his silence to be a cue to continue. "Will you go to my apartment and check on Yuuri for me? He hasn't been answering his phone all day."

At this, Yuri's eyes widened. "You want me to do _what?_ "

Victor clasped his hands together in front of him, a gesture of pleading.

Yuri scoffed. "He's probably just sleeping or something." He crossed his arms in defiance. "If you're so fucking worried about him, do it yourself."

Victor visibly deflated. He ran a nervous hand through his hair and Yuri felt the smallest pangs of guilt. "Yes, you're right, never mind." Victor relented much easier than Yuri expected. Victor turned on his skates. "I'll go tell Yakov--"

Yuri groaned. "Wait." Victor turned back to him. The guilt in Yuri's stomach churned harder when he saw the defeated expression on Victor's face. "God, you're so pathetic. I'll check on your stupid boyfriend for you."

A smile of relief broke across Victor's face.

Yuri stabbed a finger at him. "But I swear to God," he spat, "if he gets me sick I'm going to _fucking kill both of you_."

Victor skated to the very edge of the rink and took Yuri's hands in his. "Thank you, Yuri," he said, naked appreciation in his voice. "You can grab my keys from my jacket."

Yuri shook his hands out of Victor's, a look of disgust on his face. "Whatever," he mumbled. He went to the bleachers where Victor's Team Russia jacket lay, digging through it. Yuri turned back to the rink, keys in hand. " _You owe me big time, old man!_ " he shouted.

Victor waved from the ice. "Anything you want, Yurio!"

Still mumbling angrily to himself, Yuri left the rink and headed in the direction of Victor's apartment.

Luckily it wasn't too far, about a twenty minute walk. He had skipped out on his cool down routine that day, wanting to get home sooner, which was obviously futile. At least it worked out for him, in the end.

It was another cloudy day in St. Petersburg; the wind blew into his face, knocking his hood down no matter how many times he pulled it back up. He stepped up his pace, hoping to get this over with as soon as possible.

He had been to Victor's apartment once or twice before Yuuri had moved in, but it had always seemed too big for just one person, too awkwardly empty. Now, Victor and Yuuri seemed to invite him over every weekend to watch movies and eat a questionably prepared dinner by Victor--sometimes the food was good, sometimes it wasn't. Victor liked to experiment in the kitchen. Maybe Yuuri just had food poisoning from too many of Victor's home cooked meals.

Yuri sighed. Truth be told, he'd been bored the past few days, practicing his upcoming routine by himself. Yakov was so busy with Victor that Yuri ended up having a huge amount of time to himself on the rink. He tried to train with Georgi, like Victor had suggested, but as Yuri anticipated, it wasn't very helpful. Georgi was so wrapped up in his own bullshit that he didn't make for a very good training partner. He even tried to arrange something with Mila, but their schedules never seemed to overlap.

It was unfortunate, but Yuri had grown used to training with that stupid _katsudon_. He may not be a stellar skater, but he seemed to catch Yuri's mistakes and problems that Yuri himself couldn't see. His improvement since they started training together in the afternoons was undeniable.

And he found that he didn't hate it, either.

In fact, he was horrified to discover he was actually _looking forward_ to practicing with Yuuri. When Victor had shown up alone, Yuri couldn't stop the swell of disappointment he felt.

He made the mistake of saying as much to Otabek the other night on the phone. The other boy had just chuckled. " _Are you actually making another friend all on your own?_ ”

Yuri scoffed. He didn't like that dumb pig. He didn't like spending time with him. And he definitely, _definitely_ didn't watch him skate with some degree of awe.

Nope. Definitely not.

Finally, Victor's apartment came into view. He made it to the stairs and bounded up them quickly, fumbling with the keys before thinking maybe he should knock first. After all, he fully expected Yuuri to be asleep on the couch or something.

Yuri banged on the door loudly. "Oi, _katsudon,_ it's me. Open up."

He waited for a minute. Nothing.

Sighing in defeat, he stabbed the key into the lock.

The door opened and he stepped into the darkness of the apartment. He let the door swing shut behind him without bothering to take his shoes off. "Hey!" he called into the darkness.

No answer.

Yuri frowned. He wasn't exactly being quiet, so surely Yuuri would have woken up by now?

He wandered down the hall, past the kitchen and the bathroom to peek into the bedroom. Though it was an overcast day and the curtains were drawn, there was just enough light to see. The room was empty, the rumpled sheets of the bed and Makkachin's sleeping form the only signs of life there.

Yuri's eyes scanned the room until they fell on a familiar sight on the bedside table: Yuuri's glasses and his phone.

Yuri made a disgusted noise. No wonder he wasn't answering Victor's calls.

He turned, and noticed the door to the bathroom was ajar, light spilling out from underneath it.

The sight only made Yuri's frustration grow. So he _was_ in the bathroom without his phone. Of course.

But still, he had promised Victor he would check on his stupid boyfriend, so he would have to follow through.

Yuri stopped in front of the bathroom door and knocked. Again, there was no answer. Yuri had just about had it that this point, but he needed to make sure the pig was alive on the other side. Reluctantly, he pushed the door open. _Aw man what if he's taking a shit or something_ \--

Yuuri wasn't on the toilet. Instead, he was passed out next to it, facing away from the door.

For a moment, Yuri didn't feel anything. He stood frozen by the bathroom door, angry words dying on his lips. The sight wouldn't register in his brain.

And then, all at once, the situation slammed into him like a truck. Panic bubbled up inside him, starting in his stomach and rising up his throat like bile.

He forgot his frustration and annoyance and rushed to Yuuri's side.

"Shit," he mumbled to himself. "Shit!"

Yuri pulled out his phone, quickly finding Victor's name and hitting _call._

It rang...and rang....and rang.....

Voicemail. Yuri hung up in frustration, turning his attention to the unmoving figure on the floor. Did he hit his head or something? Yuri knelt next to him and shook his shoulder. "Come on, idiot, wake up." He could feel the heat radiating from Yuuri's body through his shirt. This was definitely not good.

Nothing. Yuri bit his lip, unsure of what to do. "Come on, _katsudon,_ wake the fuck up!"

Finally, Yuuri's head turned in his direction. Squinting, his groggy voice asked, "Who're you?"

" _What?_ " Shock replaced Yuri's panic, if only temporarily. "What the fuck do you mean, _who're you?_ "

Yuuri tried to sit up, but got less than halfway before falling back down again. "Victor...." He started saying something in a language Yuri didn't understand.

There were too many emotions swirling in Yuri for him to process. He tried to shove them all aside and focused on one thing at a time. Yuuri was still lying on the floor, which couldn't be good for him.

Yuri put his hands under Yuuri's arms. "Sit up, idiot," he said, pulling Yuuri upright.

It worked, for the most part. Eventually he was able to maneuver Yuuri into a sitting position, leaning him back against the cabinets under the sink. Now that Yuri could see him head on, he looked even worse than before: he was pale and shivering, dark hair a mess around his face. His eyes were glazed, and he seemed to look past Yuri. Yuri tried not to notice that he was only wearing a shirt and boxers.

Yuuri was still mumbling in some other language--was it Japanese?--and every now and then Yuri could make out Victor's name.

He pulled out his cell phone again, sending some frantic texts to Victor, hoping he'd respond soon. Yuuri was obviously delirious, and Yuri didn't know what to do. This was way above his pay grade.

Yuuri looked upset. Yuri just patted his leg awkwardly, trying to do _something_ useful. So he was surprised when Yuuri let out a pained yelp at the touch.

It was then that Yuri noticed.

The fabric of Yuuri's boxers on his left leg was pulled up a bit, just enough for Yuri to see the angry red marks on the skin. That didn't look right.

Trying not to think about what exactly he was doing, he scooted over to Yuuri and gingerly rolled up the leg of his boxers. Yuuri whimpered at the touch.

The sight of the infection brought all of Yuri's panic roaring back. This was the last straw.

With shaking hands, he pulled out his phone again and made another call.

* * *

After another mistake in his step sequence, Yakov gruffly told Victor to take a break.

Victor knew Yakov was worried about him. His performance for the last few days had been weak. His concern for Yuuri was distracting him and frustrating his coach to no end.

"If you're so worried about him, go home," Yakov had said to him after he spoke to Yurio. "You're no good here if you're not fully invested in this."

Victor sighed. Yakov was right, but Yuuri had been so upset when he offered to stay home....

He skated over to the edge of the rink, pulling his skate guards on and going over to where he had left his jacket. Phones on the ice were a definite taboo, so he had resigned himself to leaving it in his coat pocket.

Victor pulled out his phone, and his heartbeat quickened when he saw the number of notifications from Yurio. Two missed calls and a number of texts, each one sending a new wave of dread through Victor.

_what the fuck victor call me back_

_hey idiot why did you ask me to do this if you weren't going to check your phone_

_victor this is serious i don't know what to do_

And finally, the one that scared Victor the most, sent a full ten minutes after previous ones:

_please just call me back_

Victor tried not to panic as he called Yuri.

Yuri picked up halfway through the first ring. " _It's about fucking time,_ " he said, but his voice was shaking and there was no fire behind his words.

"Yuri," Victor fought to keep his own voice steady. "What's going on? Is he alright?"

There was silence for a moment on the other end. Then, " _I-I don't know. He's really out of it, he won't talk to me._ "

There was something off about Yuri's voice, something that Victor hadn't heard before. "Yuri," Victor said slowly, "what happened?"

" _Look, I didn't know what to do, and you weren't answering your phone, and...Victor, when I found him, he was passed out in the bathroom and when he woke up he_ didn't recognize me."

The noise of the rink suddenly sounded very far away. He tried to say something, but nothing came out.

" _I called an ambulance._ "

Victor finally figured out what he was hearing in Yuri's voice. It's the same thing he'd been hearing in his own; it was the feeling he'd been trying to push aside all day.

It was fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that a cliffhanger I'm so sorry
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated :)
> 
> Once again, for anyone who is confused:
> 
> 102.8 F = 39.3 C
> 
> Check me out on [Tumblr](https://yuuri-nikiforever.tumblr.com/)!


	4. Don't leave me lost here forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit later in the evening than usual, it's been a busy few days.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who has commented and left kudos. It really means a lot to me!!

Victor didn't remember talking to Yakov before leaving the rink. He didn't remember changing out of his skates, hailing a cab, and ending up at the hospital. The only thing Victor remembered was the hard hammering of his heart, the blood rushing in his ears. And when he finally arrived at the hospital and they directed him to the ICU, he remembered not being able to breathe.

The waiting room was small: it was meant for the entirety of the ICU ward. Luckily, there weren't many other people there, and it took Victor no time at all to spot Yuri, hunched down low in one of the seats, hands deep in his pockets. His hood was up, obscuring his face, a few stray strands of blond hair escaping.

Victor rushed to Yuri, not bothering to sit. Yuri looked up at him, and Victor noticed how pale he was.

"I don't know what's happening," Yuri said before Victor could ask. His eyes were wide in his young face, red and bloodshot. "They rushed him in here and just told me to wait."

Victor didn't trust himself to say anything. He sat heavily in the seat next to Yuri, elbows on his knees. He watched as Yuri bounced his leg quickly, nervously.

They sat in silence for a long time--Yuri was being uncharacteristically quiet. Victor stared at the floor between his legs, and was sure his heart was going to beat right out of his chest.

Finally, after waiting for an eternity (or maybe it just a few minutes; Victor didn't know) a doctor came into the room. "Yuuri....Katsuki?"

Victor jumped to his feet, and Yuri looked up. "How is he? Is he ok?"

The doctor had a clipboard in his hands, and began flipping through the pages. "Well, we don't know for sure yet." He looked up, eyes flicking to Yuri and then back to Victor. "What's your relation to the patient?"

"I'm...." Victor hesitated. He and Yuuri hadn't bothered to really define their relationship. No, that wasn't quite right. They simply hadn't had time. What was he? Yuuri's boyfriend? His fiancé? His lover?

"I'm his coach," Victor finally settled on. He could feel Yuri's eyes boring into the back of his head.

The doctor raised his eyebrow at Victor. "Does he have any family in the area?"

Victor shook his head. "They're in Japan."

Sighing, the doctor nodded. "Then I suggest we talk outside, Mr.....?"

"Victor. Victor Nikiforov."

If the doctor recognized his name, he didn't show it. He started to walk away, and Victor looked down at Yuri. "Are you coming?"

Yuri shook his head, sinking even further into the seat. "I'll wait here," he mumbled, wrapping his arms around himself.

Victor followed the doctor to the hall. "Mr. Nikiforov," the doctor started, "I'm afraid the prognosis isn't good."

"What happened?" Victor whispered, his voice giving out on him.

Flipping through his papers once more, the doctor sighed again. "There's a cut on his leg, here," the doctor pointed to his own leg with his pen, right around the upper thigh, "which has become badly infected. Unfortunately, the infection has turned septic." At Victor's confused look, he continued, "It's a serious infection that has spread through his body."

Victor's blood turned to ice. _A cut on his leg_.....Victor remembered Yuuri falling during practice and cutting himself. He tried to remember if they had treated it, but was drawing a blank. "Is he going to be ok?"

"Well, like I said, we're not sure yet." The doctor tapped on his clipboard with his pen. "Sepsis can be hard to deal with, but we're pretty sure the infection hasn't spread to his lungs or brain. His fever is dangerously high, and we have him on a course of strong antibiotics. We're going to run some tests to see if we can pinpoint the type of infection, so we can give him a more specific course. We're not sure how far the infection has progressed, exactly. Surgery on the area might be needed. Amputation may be an option, but we're hoping it won't come to that."

Victor's hand fluttered up to his mouth. The doctor was being so painfully casual about everything, and now he was saying they might have to cut off Yuuri's _leg_....?

"Sepsis does have a high mortality rate, but he's young and strong, so we're optimistic that he'll pull through. You're lucky your friend had him brought in when he did. Another hour or two and it might have been too late."

 _Too late_.....Victor couldn't even begin to process that. "Can I see him?"

The doctor hesitated. "He's sedated at the moment, and very weak."

"Please?" Victor couldn't help the way his voice cracked on the single word.

Sighing once more, the doctor turned and led Victor to Yuuri's room. "Just for a few minutes."

Victor nodded, pushing the door open.

Yuuri was indeed unconscious in the hospital bed, oxygen mask over his face and IV drip in his arm. His skin was pale, so pale, and he looked too small in the bed. Victor found himself kneeling at Yuuri's side, gently brushing his bangs away. He was afraid to touch him, thinking he might break like glass, but Victor found Yuuri's hand and held it in his own.

" _Yuuri_." He brought Yuuri's hand to his lips, kissing him gently. The sight of Yuuri, _his_ Yuuri, small and so very fragile, broke something in Victor. The tears finally came at that point, running down his cheeks and dripping on to Yuuri's unmoving hand. "I'm so sorry, my love," he sobbed quietly. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

Yuri wasn't sure how much more of this waiting room he could take.

He had ridden in the back of the ambulance while the paramedics had hooked Yuuri up to machines and started talking in some medical language that Yuri couldn't follow. He just noticed how Yuuri had slipped back into unconsciousness, how the machines beeped angrily at the paramedics, how they talked more urgently after each passing minute.

By the time they arrived at the hospital, Yuri was already emotionally frayed. He had followed them into the hospital, down the hall and into the ICU wing, and that was when the gravity of the situation finally hit him.

Oh God, was _katsudon_ going to _die?_

The thought hadn't really occurred to him until they wheeled Yuuri away and told Yuri to sit tight.

And then....nothing.

Yuri was exhausted. He sat slumped in the waiting room, all of his panic and worry and fear swirling inside him until he became numb. He thought he was at his limit.

And then Victor had walked in.

Well, more like _stumbled_ in. After their brief phone call, Victor must have all but run to the hospital, straight from the rink.

God, he looked _awful_. His hair--normally the pinnacle of perfection, even during practice--was a disheveled mess. Eyes wild, Team Russia jacket half off his shoulders, he looked like he was going to start crying right then and there.

Yuri couldn't handle that, not right now, so he cut him off before it could happen. "I don't know what's happening," he had said. "They rushed him in here and just told me to wait."

So when the doctor finally came out, he didn't have the energy to go with Victor. He didn't have the energy to do much of anything, if he was being honest. The nervous tick in his leg was simply a way to hold himself together.

Victor came back at some point, sitting down next to Yuri again. Somehow, he looked even worse than he did before. He had definitely been crying, tear stains fresh on his face.

Yuri tried to brace himself for the worst. "Is he...?"

"They don't know yet." Victor's voice was wrecked. "They have him on antibiotics, so we just need to wait and see." He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

Yuri didn't know what to do. Victor was completely falling apart beside him and he _didn't know what to do._

"God, Yuri, I'm so sorry."

This jolted Yuri out of his thoughts. "Why are you apologizing to _me?_ " Yuri asked, incredulous.

Victor didn't raise his head. "I never would have asked you to do this if I had known." He choked back a small sob. "I never should have left him alone...."

Of course Victor was blaming himself. Yuri scrambled for something to say. "He shouldn't have hidden this from you," Yuri said after a few minutes. "That stupid idiot. This is just like him."

Victor's breath hitched again, coming out as a half sob, half laugh, and just a little bit hysterical. "It really is, isn't it?"

They stayed like that for a while, Victor trying not to fall apart and Yuri trying not to let him.

Eventually though, it became too much. Yuri needed a goddamn break.

He felt bad, leaving Victor alone like this, but he couldn't take the weight of Victor's worry and fear on top of his own. He couldn't handle Victor's choking sobs that escaped him every few minutes.

Mumbling an excuse about the bathroom, he stood and left, going anywhere that wasn't right there. He was in a deserted hallway before finally stopping, back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. Pulling out his phone, he did the one thing he'd been wanting to do since he first walked in to Victor's apartment. His hands were shaking as he swiped through his contacts--they hadn't really stopped shaking this whole time.

" _Yuri_ ," the voice on the other end was groggy. It was already well into the evening in St. Petersburg, which meant it was even later in Kazakhstan, but Yuri just desperately needed to talk to him. " _What's up?_ "

"Beka," he said, voice unsteady. "I'm sorry, I know it's late....I just..."

" _Yuri_." Otabek's voice was more awake now, laced with concern. " _What's wrong?_ "

And just like that, the dam inside Yuri broke. He slid to the floor, clutching his phone in his hands as all of his emotions from the day hit him at once and he was just sobbing into Otabek's ear.

* * *

It took Victor a while to come to terms with the situation.

Not only did Victor completely fail as a coach--letting Yuuri injure himself--but he completely failed as Yuuri's lover as well. After all, he _lived_ with him. How could he not have noticed? How could he have let it get this bad?

Victor's guilt increased tenfold when he saw Yuri practically sprint out of the waiting room. He couldn't blame him, though. Victor knew he was a mess, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Now that he knew what was going on, he could have a proper breakdown. He was almost glad Yuri wasn't here to see it.

He should never have let Yuuri convince him to go to practice. He should never have made Yuri check on him.

Oh God...Yuri had been the one to _find_ Yuuri in Victor's apartment. He had been the one to call the ambulance, who had been sitting in the waiting room this whole time. Victor sometimes forgot that Yuri was only sixteen, with his angry face and punk attitude, but sixteen-year-old Yuri had been the one to go through that traumatic event.

Worst of all, Victor had been too goddamn _busy_ to do it himself.

He knew that Yuuri had been sick for days. He _knew_. But everything had gotten in the way. Their choreography, the upcoming season, Victor's comeback, Yuuri's gold medal......Victor had let it all get in the way.

And now Yuuri was lying in a hospital bed.

Victor tilted his head back, feeling new tears run down his face. He was supposed to be looking out for Yuuri. He was supposed to be _there_ for him. He was his coach, his friend, his lover. Instead he had been too wrapped up in his own bullshit to notice that Yuuri wasn't well.

He should have seen the signs. Yuuri was so scared of pulling Victor down that he would do anything to make sure it didn't happen. Including, apparently, sacrificing his own health. He knew he wasn't paying enough attention to Yuuri with his hectic schedule, but Victor had always just shrugged it off. Everything would simply fall into place once they started living together, right?

Wrong.

And now, he realized, he might have to start imagining a life without Yuuri. If he died today, Victor knew he'd take a piece of himself with him. And it would be Victor's fault.

Victor wanted to scream. He wanted to break something. Instead, he just pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying and failing to hold himself together.

* * *

Victor wasn't sure how much time passed. His phone died at some point, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Yuri came back from his suspiciously long bathroom break, eyes red rimmed and puffy, but Victor didn't mention it. He was sure he didn't look much better.

Yakov showed up, but didn't stay long. Yuri must have called him.

"How is he?" Yakov had asked. Victor just shook his head, not trusting his voice.

Yakov handed Victor a bag. Victor recognized it from his own apartment--of course Yakov had a key. Inside was a change of clothes, a water bottle, and his phone charger.

"Make sure you sleep at some point, Vitya," Yakov said softly. "You're no good to him if you get sick yourself."

Victor just nodded, eyes filling with tears again. "Thank you, Yakov."

Yakov just shrugged. "You need anything else, call me." He had another bag in his hands, which he held out to Yuri. He took it without a word.

Victor got changed in the bathroom, feeling a little bit better in clean clothes. He plugged his phone into the nearest outlet, watching it boot up with a strange sense of detachment. It started going crazy with missed notifications: calls and texts from various of their friends. He wasn't sure how word got around so fast about Yuuri, but the magnitude of concern for him put a small smile on Victor's face.

The first thing he did was call Yuuri's parents. That conversation was....hard. Yuuri's mother cried so much that Mari had to take over the conversation, voice shaking but coherent. He promised them to call when there was more news.

" _How are you holding up?_ " Mari asked, surprising Victor. Who cared about him right now?

"I'm...doing the best I can," Victor said honestly.

" _Take care of yourself too, Victor,_ " Mari said softly.

This almost broke Victor all over again. With a quick goodbye to Mari, he hung up, trying to bring himself under control. He took a few shaking breaths before shooting off a few texts to Chris and Phichit, who had been frantically asking for updates.

Just then, the doctor from earlier came in.

Victor let his phone clatter to the floor and jumped to his feet, rushing to him.

"I have good news and bad news," the doctor said before Victor had a chance to ask. "The good news that infection hasn’t spread to his major organs yet. He’s responding well to the new round of antibiotics, and his temperature has stopped rising."

Victor sagged in relief. But... "What's the bad news?"

The doctor exhaled softly, glancing down at his ever present clipboard. "The infection is more progressed than we'd like, so while the antibiotics are working, we still can’t rule out amputation yet. Hopefully the antibiotics can stay ahead of the infection, but only time will tell at this point.”

Victor's nerves were so frayed that he wasn't sure what emotion to be feeling anymore. He saw Yuri come up beside him; he had stayed with Victor this whole time. "Can we see him?" Victor asked.

"Hopefully soon," the doctor promised. "If the treatment works, we’ll be moving him out of the ICU." He took in Victor's pale face and Yuri's rumpled clothes. "You two boys should consider going home for a bit. We'll call you when he can have visitors."

With that, the doctor turned and left. Victor rubbed his eyes, sinking back into the chair. How long had he been awake? "You should go home, Yuri," he said. "You must be exhausted."

Yuri scoffed, taking a seat next to him. "No more than you, and I bet _you're_ not going home."

Victor couldn't even consider going home and sleeping in his empty apartment, knowing Yuuri was still here. The image of him against the stark backdrop of the hospital bed was burned into Victor's mind. Yakov had texted him, saying he would look after Makkachin for as long as Victor needed. He felt a rush of affection for his coach in that moment.

"It's not your fault, you know."

Victor looked down at Yuri, who refused to meet his eyes. Victor didn't trust his voice, so he just placed a hand on Yuri's knee and squeezed.

They lapsed into silence again. For how long, Victor didn't know--a moment, an hour, an eternity. His phone was lighting up with even more notifications, and he scrolled through them mindlessly. Phichit had texted him again-- _Please tell me he's going to be ok_ \--and Victor's hands shook so badly he wasn't sure he could even type out a response.

For a third time, the doctor came in. "The antibiotics seem to be working, so we're moving him out of the ICU," he told them. "He's still unconscious, but you can see him now."

Victor didn't need to be told twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated :)
> 
> When I was reading this over, I realized there wasn't much Yuuri resolution, so I'm sorry for that. We'll see more next chapter, I promise.
> 
> Check me out on [Tumblr](https://yuuri-nikiforever.tumblr.com/)!


	5. Look for the light that leads me home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left all those lovely comments, and everyone who has left kudos and bookmarked!!! It makes me so happy, you have no idea

_The city burns._

_As the dreamer, Yuuri can see it from every angle: the deep roots of flame in the ground, the low swooping waves of sparks that flow from the tallest tower to the smallest house. He can see the billowing smoke, rising from every point to form dancing shadows in the sky._

_It's a deep crimson, like blood. It sears into his vision and flows through his veins._

_The heat burns him from the inside, but he feels removed from the pain. It simply adds to the vivid colours of the scene in front of him, the bright fire imprinting itself in his brain. The flames lick upwards, like angry streaks across a pale backdrop of sky._

_Suddenly, a figure emerges from the fire. It is larger than life, but at the same time, smaller than Yuuri. The figure is so far away, too far, and Yuuri's heart hurts like he's never felt before._

_The figure stretches out a hand, beckoning. "Come with me," it seems to say. "Burn with me."_

_Yuuri wants to._

_He runs, but the dream pulls on his limbs and he can't force himself to move fast enough. The figure drops its arm, fading back into the red._

_The colours explode. The red burns into blue, and it burns cold. Blue turns to ice, burning, ever burning._

_The flames and the smoke and the PAIN mingle into something new: it blurs in Yuuri's vision and it burns through him and he's suddenly drowning in it, but he lets go, it's ok, it's always going to be ok._

_The city burns, and Yuuri burns with it._

* * *

Yuuri struggled to wake up, the dream slow to release its hold. It took a long time for Yuuri to register all of the sensations around him: there's a pressure on his face he doesn't recognize and a warm feeling in his hand, but the fire is still burning inside him.

Gasping, he opened his eyes. The ceiling is not his ceiling, it's not the one he's been waking up to for the past few months. He was too hot but too cold and he couldn't stop the erratic beat of his heart, the breaths that were coming too fast.

Without his glasses, the world struggled to come into focus. But suddenly, a familiar face came into view.

"Yuuri?! Yuuri, love, just calm down, ok?"

How could he calm down when Victor's voice was so full of fear?

He couldn't breathe, there were too many unfamiliar things and there was still _pain,_ why did it still hurt if he was awake--

Suddenly his heartbeat came down from its high, his breathing evening out, and this time, there was no fire in the darkness.

* * *

Victor couldn't stop the way his hands shook around Yuuri's. He refused to let go, even when the nurse gave Yuuri another sedative after his panic attack upon waking up.

Victor didn't think it was possible to add more levels of fear to the mess inside him, but then again, Yuuri was always very good at surprising him.

He looked behind him to where Yuri had retreated, his back pressed against the wall, shaking hands drawn up to his chest, eyes wide.

"Yuri," Victor said tiredly. "I really think you should go home."

There was a pause before Yuri responded, "What about you?"

Victor couldn't go home, couldn't even consider it. "I'll call you if anything changes."

For once, Yuri didn't argue. Silently, he picked up the bag Yakov had given him and slipped out the door.

Victor sighed, somewhat relieved that he had finally left.

The machine Yuuri was hooked up to beeped steadily, and soon it became background noise for Victor. He felt so frayed, so exhausted.

When Yuuri had first woken up, Victor had been filled with relief--until Yuuri couldn't breathe, hands scrambling to rip off the oxygen mask on his face. Victor's relief turned to panic so quickly that he didn't even see the nurse until she had given Yuuri another sedative. He watched as it dragged Yuuri back into unconsciousness, feeling sick at the sight.

Alone with Yuuri again, Victor kept his hands firmly wrapped around one of Yuuri's. He was so afraid that if he let go, he would lose him. He cried softly, squeezing Yuuri's hand. He had cried more in the past few hours than he had in the past ten years. Victor felt so burnt out, exhausted to the core.

And so, as hard as he tried to fight it, Victor couldn't help the way his eyes fluttered shut, falling asleep in the uncomfortable chair, still clutching Yuuri's hand like he was the dying one.

* * *

Yuuri awoke again to the steady beeping of machines and the sound of soft breathing beside him.

This time, his heart didn't try to break out of his chest, and breathing was much easier. The feeling of the oxygen mask on his face was still unfamiliar, but it no longer felt like it was suffocating him, and the cool rush of air was a pleasant feeling this time.

Coming out of the medication was different than waking from natural sleep: it felt as though bits and pieces of his mind were waking up separately, coming to life one at a time.

Blinking a few times, he wondered why the room was so out of focus--only to realize he didn't have his glasses on. But he didn't need them to recognize the sleeping figure in the chair next to his bed.

Victor sat in what looked like an incredibly uncomfortable position, head lolling to one side. Yuuri looked at their intertwined hands on the bed, and gave a gentle squeeze.

Victor's sleep must have been light, because the slight movement jolted him awake, panic clear on his face as he looked down at Yuuri.

" _Yuuri,_ " he breathed. His red rimmed eyes filled with new tears, though they didn't overflow.

Now that he was awake, Yuuri could see how tired Victor looked, as if he hadn't slept properly in a long time.

There was still a fog in Yuuri's mind as he tried to piece together his situation. "What happened?" he asked Victor. "Where am I?"

Victor took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to keep his voice steady. "You don't remember?" he replied quietly. Yuuri shook his head.

"You...." Victor began, swiping furiously at his eyes. _Stop crying, you've been crying all day, just stop it already_. "Yuri found you unconscious in our apartment. He brought you to the hospital. You have a very serious infection."

Yuuri tried to remember, but found that the muddled pieces of his memory refused to form into a coherent whole. But from the look on Victor's face, it must have been pretty bad. How long had he been in the hospital? He was almost afraid to ask.

At that moment, a doctor walked in, followed by a nurse who checked his vitals. They were speaking with Victor in Russian, the language flowing over Yuuri like water. His head felt heavy, and staying awake was hard, so he allowed the conversation to lull him back into unconsciousness.

* * *

The third time Yuuri awoke, his mind was much sharper than before. Sharp enough to register the that the oxygen mask had been removed, and to notice the dull pain in his leg.

Some of the memories of what happened returned to him slowly. He remembered being sick and alone in their apartment, missing Victor so much it made his heart ache. He remembered, vaguely, the pale and scared face of Yuri Plisetsky. He remembered waking up with Victor at his side.

A soft voice across the room drew his attention. Victor had his back turned to him, speaking quietly on his phone. Yuuri wondered how long he had been here, and if Victor had gone home at all. Guilt rushed through him, warm and familiar.

Victor sighed into the phone, turning back to face Yuuri. His eyes widened and he spoke quickly to the person on the other line. "He's awake," he was saying, rushing to Yuuri's side. He cupped Yuuri's cheek with his hand, which was impossibly cold. Yuuri shivered. "How are you feeling?"

Yuuri tried to sit up, but Victor grabbed his shoulders before he could get far. "No, Yuuri, you need to rest. Lie down."

Yuuri obliged, sinking back into the pillows. Victor held his phone out to him. "It's your family. They're worried sick."

 _Oh_. Of course. With shaking hands, Yuuri took the phone and placed it to his ear. "H-hi," he said tentatively, his voice rough with disuse and sleep.

His mother was on the other end, and she burst into tears when she heard Yuuri's voice. They took turns to talk to him, passing the phone around and collectively sobbing in relief that he was awake. When it got to Mari, she simply asked him if he was going to be ok.

"I-I think so," came his stumbled reply. "I'm so sorry, Mari. I didn't mean to worry any of you."

" _Oh, Yuuri,_ " Mari sighed into the phone, but the relief in her voice was still audible. " _Don't apologize, it's not your fault. We're all just so glad that you're ok._ "

Yuuri could feel his own tears fill his eyes, and he rubbed them with his hand. "I'm sorry," he apologized again.

They spoke for another few minutes before saying goodbye, with a promise to keep them updated. " _And,_ " Mari had added, " _take care of that boy of yours. I don't think he's left your side since you were admitted_."

Yuuri tried not to blush at this, and was only mildly successful.

He hung up and handed the phone back to Victor. "Thank you," he said, "for calling them."

"Of course, Yuuri." Victor tried to smile, but it was a bit too watery. He sat down in a chair next to the bed, running a hand through Yuuri's hair. "How are you feeling?" he asked again.

Yuuri considered this. "Better, I think," he said. It wasn't a total lie: he felt better than he had in days, though there was still that tired feeling he felt in his bones. "How long have I been here?"

Victor checked his phone. "A few days."

" _What?_ " Yuuri was shocked. Days? It didn't feel like days. And.... "Victor, please tell me you haven't been here this whole time."

"Of course I was," Victor stated matter-of-factly. "I couldn't possibly...." he trailed off.

"What about your training?" Yuuri's anxiety came back with a vengeance, the fear of holding Victor back clawing up his throat.

But Victor waved a hand dismissively. "To hell with my training," he said. "You are far more important."

Yuuri sagged into the pillows once more, and his leg throbbed, reminding him of why he was there in the first place.

He winced, and Victor noticed. Leftover traces of panic were still in his face, and his eyes grew wild with it again. "Are you ok? Should I get the doctor?"

Yuuri shook his head, sitting up and moving the bed sheets away from his body. The air in the room was cold, and he shivered slightly. He moved the fabric of his hospital gown aside to see the source of the pain.

A large white bandage stood out against his skin, covering the wound. He remembered what Victor had told him before, that he had a serious infection. It was the cut from his skate during practice, he realized.

He ran a hand over the bandage, feeling the ache turn into a sharp pain. Was this little thing what caused him to put both his and Victor's lives on hold, that caused him to be in this hospital bed?

Victor hovered nervously, hands already moving towards Yuuri. "I don't think you should touch it..."

"How bad was it?" Yuuri interrupted.

Victor hesitated, moving his hands to wrap his arms around himself. He drew a shaking breath. "It was....bad." Victor's voice was quiet. "They said Yuri got you here just in time. Any longer and....and you might have....." Victor's voice broke, and he looked like he was going to start crying again, much to Yuuri's horror. Would he ever stop hurting the man he loved?

"I'm sorry, Vitya," he said, voice small.

Victor sniffed, running a hand under his eyes. "Don't apologize. I should have noticed something was wrong."

"Vitya, no." Yuuri brought his hands to Victor's face. "It's not your fault."

Victor wrapped his hands around Yuuri's, leaning in to the touch. "They said you can go home soon. The antibiotics are working, but they want to keep you here for a few more days to make sure."

Yuuri nodded. "Please, Victor, go home and get some sleep." Victor was paler than Yuuri had ever seen him, and the tired lines on his face made Yuuri worry.

"I don't want to leave you," Victor said softly. _I don't want to leave and find out that you're gone._

"I'll be fine," Yuuri replied. "I promise."

Victor squeezed Yuuri's hands, pain flashing in his eyes. "You promised me you'd be fine before."

Yuuri flinched. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, shame flushing his cheeks. He had known he wasn't fine, but he hid it from Victor. And now, here he was.

Victor shook his head, finally releasing Yuuri's hands. "It's not your fault."

People kept telling him that, but Yuuri wasn't sure if he believed them.

The energy was sapping out of Yuuri fast. He felt like he had slept forever, and yet he still wanted to sleep some more. His fever, while lower, persisted; he felt it burn inside him. It must have shown on his face, because Victor rubbed a soothing hand across his cheek. "Rest, my Yuuri. I'll be here when you wake up."

Yuuri could only nod as he sank back into the bed, letting sleep take him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if that first part was weird I just really love writing trippy dream sequences
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated :)
> 
> Check me out on [Tumblr](https://yuuri-nikiforever.tumblr.com/)!


	6. Where broken hearts mend

Yuuri was officially released from the hospital soon after waking up. He had managed to convince Victor to go home and sleep for at least one night while he was there, but soon enough he was back by Yuuri's side.

The doctors were happy with Yuuri's progress. He was young and otherwise healthy, so the antibiotics were working well. They soon sent him home with some more antibiotics for him to continue taking, as well as strict instructions to take it easy and keep an eye on his leg.

Yuuri, of course, wanted to get back on the rink as soon as possible; not just for his own sake, but for Victor's as well. By the time he was home, Yuuri had missed almost two weeks of practice. The thought alone made his heart hammer with anxiety, anticipating the rapidly approaching season.

Victor, however, wasn't having it. "There's no way I'm letting you back on the ice until you've fully recovered," he told Yuuri when they first got home.

And so, Yuuri was left with nothing to do but continue resting. 

He spent the majority of his first few days at home sleeping, waking only when Victor insisted that he eat something. The doctors had been very clear with Victor that it was vital for Yuuri's recovery to get plenty of fluids and eat a balanced diet.

Yuuri's fever was stubborn, and was slow to completely shake off, though it had dropped considerably. Victor could feel it when he ran his hand through Yuuri's hair, the heat still coming off of him. The doctors told him this would happen, that it would take some time for it to abate completely, but it still scared Victor. He would lie in bed with Yuuri and pull him close, listening to his chest rise and fall. A part of him was still so scared--scared that if he let go, that if he didn't stay with him, Yuuri wouldn't wake up.

It was on one of these days--Yuuri's head on Victor's chest, Victor's arm securely around him--that Victor decide to call Yuri.

It was something Victor had been putting off for a while. They hadn't spoken since the hospital; Victor was too wrapped up in taking care of Yuuri to even think about it. But now, with Yuuri finally recovering, Victor realized he couldn't wait any longer.

Yuuri was sound asleep, and Victor wasn't worried about waking him; he wasn't sure if it was the medication or the fever, but for the past few days, Yuuri would sleep like a log. It was a good thing, too, because Victor wasn't about to leave his side.

Sighing softly, Victor pulled out his phone, found Yuri's name, and hit _call_.

It rang for so long that Victor was just about to hang up when he heard a _click_ on the other end. " _What do you want,_ " came Yuri's curt greeting.

"Hi, Yuri!" Victor responded brightly, though he didn't feel it.

The was silence for a moment. " _What do you want,_ " Yuri repeated, his voice lifeless.

Victor fidgeted a bit, playing with the ends of Yuuri's hair. "I just wanted to let you know that we're home from the hospital. Yuuri's going to be ok, but it might be some time before he's back on the ice."

Another beat of silence passed before Yuri responded with, " _That's good,_ " though there was still that strange dead sound to it.

"And..." Victor hesitated. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

" _Me?_ " Yuri asked, sounding annoyed. " _I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?_ "

Victor blinked, surprised at Yuri’s reaction. “I just thought--”

“ _Thought what? That I'm some dumb kid that needs your help? That I was too much of a pussy to stick around at the hospital? That I was being a baby?_ ”

"Yuri--"

" _What's your problem, Victor?!_ " Yuri was getting more and more agitated. " _Why are you asking me if I'm fine? I’m not the one who almost died! Why would you ask me that?!_ "

"Because I know you," Victor said matter-of-factly. "I know you and I saw how terrified you were. I know, because I was too. It's ok to not be fine, Yuri. It's ok to ask for help."

Yuri made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle, but Victor waited for him to say something. " _I've been having nightmares,_ " he said finally. His voice sounded unsteady.

Victor's heart clenched painfully. "Oh, Yuri..."

" _I don't want your pity, old man,_ " Yuri snapped, though his voice still shook. " _But...thank you. For calling. I'm glad he's going to be ok._ "

Victor felt incredibly guilty for putting off this phone call. He was so focused on Yuuri that he didn't even think about how all of this would have affected Yuri.

A thought occurred to him. Yuri needed help, needed someone to talk to, and Victor knew he wasn't the right person. "Have you talked to your friend at all? What was his name again?"

" _Beka?_ " Yuri seemed surprised.

"Yeah, him." Victor chuckled softly. "You two are friends, right?"

" _Well, yeah, of course._ " Yuri seemed a bit flustered, but at least he was sounding better. " _I don't want to bother him with this again._ "

"Again?" Victor asked.

There was a pause before Yuri answered. " _I called him at the hospital. It was embarrassing. He won't want to hear from me again, I'm sure._ "

Victor's heart broke a little. Poor Yuri, he didn't want to bother his friend. That was an excuse Victor was all too familiar with. He looked down at Yuuri's sleeping form and smiled.

"He won't mind, Yuri. In fact, I'm sure he's very worried about you."

" _You...you think so?_ " Yuri's voice sounded hopeful.

Victor's smiled widened. "I'm sure of it."

* * *

Eventually, Yuuri's fever broke permanently. His recovery was swift after that, though he still felt weak and tired after the slightest amount of activity. He could feel the fact that he was no longer in peak competition condition, and this added to his ever growing anxiety.

"It makes sense, Yuuri," Victor had told him one evening, after a failed attempt at an evening jog. They didn't get very far when the pain in Yuuri's leg was too much for him, and they ended up walking back to their apartment. "You were very sick. You need to give yourself time to recover."

Yuuri tried not to dwell on the days he felt were wasted with _resting_ and _recovering._ It also gave his brain too much time to think, and it conjured up the worst things. While he was still itching to get back to the ice, he also thought of it with a new sense of apprehension, even fear. He couldn't help but connect the thought of skating to lying in a hospital bed. After all, it was the ice--as well as his own carelessness--that had nearly killed him.

To make things worse, Victor was incredibly reluctant to leave Yuuri's side. He hovered over Yuuri, making sure he was comfortable and taking it easy. This, of course, meant that he was missing practice as well.

"I can't believe Yakov hasn't killed you yet," Yuuri said one day, half hoping it would instill the same sense of urgency in Victor that Yuuri had been feeling since he was released from the hospital.

"Yakov understands," was all Victor had said in reply.

Though Yuuri's physical health was recovering, his mental health was still a complete mess. And so, with each passing day, Yuuri tried to ignore the anxiety of going back to the rink that was slowly building up inside of him. 

Even though the urge to get back on the ice was strong, he soon discovered that he wasn't prepared for the fear, now a constant undercurrent in his life.

It started off small, at first. He would be jogging with Victor, and though the ache in his leg was finally fading, every now and then it would twinge with pain, and it sent a spike of anxiety through Yuuri. Once or twice in their apartment, he would run into the coffee table or the side of the bed. He would wake up the next day and feel the strangest twinge of panic when he saw the resulting bruise on his skin. Once, he fell during their morning jog and scraped his hand. The sight of the cut and the redness of his skin almost sent him into a full blown panic attack.

And then there were the nightmares.

Yuuri couldn't remember the last time he had slept through the night. After sleeping so much at the hospital and when he had first come home, his sleep schedule was a complete disaster. And when he did sleep, it was short and uneasy. He dreamt about dying, the ice shattering beneath him and swallowing him whole. He dreamt about losing, missing every jump and step sequence while Victor looked on in disappointment. Some dreams would be in vivid colour, dark reds and ice blues cutting their way through him at night. He would wake up in a panic, and sometimes Victor would wake up with him, whispering soothing words and pulling him into his arms while Yuuri shook with fear.

Victor was worried, Yuuri could tell. But he didn't push it, and gave Yuuri the space he knew he needed. Yuuri, for one, was sick of worrying Victor with his dumb insecurities and silly fears. So he didn't mention any of it, even when Victor asked. Instead, he began to withdraw into himself, and their conversations became brief, sometimes non-existent. When the nightmares woke him, he would lock himself in the bathroom by himself until the terror drained out of him, leaving him shaky and weak. When the thoughts about the ice made him anxious, he shoved them away and said nothing. Yuuri thought back to his days in the hospital, of Victor's tired and worried expression, eyes full of panic and tears. Yuuri couldn't bear to make him worry like that again. So when Victor would ask, _how are you_ and _what's wrong,_ Yuuri would say _I'm fine_ and _nothing is wrong,_ even if they were lies.

The guilt over holding Victor back and the anxiety about the ice and not being good enough, _never being good enough,_ swirled like a tempest inside of him. Despite his anxiety, he was still so desperate to get back to training--proper training, not this weak kitten-training Victor had him doing while he recovered.

The idea of holding Victor back hurt him even more than neglecting his own training. This was supposed to be Victor's last season, his comeback, his explosive exit from his career. He should have been training day and night, making sure everything was ready. Instead, he was stuck at home, looking after Yuuri.

Yuuri kept trying to tell him to go to the rink, to practice and leave Yuuri to recover on his own. "I'm fine," he told Victor once. "Really, I am. You don't have to wait for me."

Victor turned to him, and Yuuri was surprised to see tears in his eyes. "I should just leave you here, while I go practice?" Victor was angry, the words low and dangerous. "The last time I did that, you almost died. Should I go through that again?"

Yuuri was shocked. It added layers to the anxiety storm inside of him, the realization of what he did making him feel sick. He had convinced Victor to leave him alone, when he knew he wasn't well. Victor was obviously carrying those feelings with him as well, and Yuuri was disgusted with himself that he didn't notice.

Yuuri turned, cheeks bright with shame. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Victor rubbed at his eyes. "I should never have left you alone," he said softly. "I let you get hurt, and then I let you get sick because I wasn't around to help."

Yuuri was horrified. "No, Victor, no--"

"I was so scared," Victor interrupted. It made Yuuri's heart hurt. "When you were in the hospital, I was _terrified_. They told me you might _die_ , and I realized I might have to live my life without you. I never want to feel that way again."

He reached out to Yuuri, wrapping him in his arms. "Just--believe me when I say I want to be here, with you. I just want to help you get better."

Yuuri just nodded into his chest, not trusting himself to speak.

* * *

Soon--maybe a little too soon--Victor deemed Yuuri healthy enough to try to go back on the ice. The cut on his leg was almost completely healed, and would probably not even leave a scar.

Well, not a physical scar, at least.

Victor decided they should start off small, on the ice. He managed to find a day where the rink would be empty, with Yurio visiting his grandfather and the rest of the skaters having the day off. They both put their skates on and stepped into the rink.

Victor was hoping that Yuuri being back on the ice would ease some of the anxiety in him. He knew Yuuri was having trouble, and he attributed it to the stress of missing so much practice. So when he told Yuuri they would start practicing at the rink, he was more than a little surprised at Yuuri's blank stare.

As hard as Victor tried, Yuuri refused to talk about what happened. He kept insisting he was fine, but Victor saw the way his hands shook sometimes, tracing the outline of the cut on his leg. He tried not to push it, figuring that Yuuri would come to him in his own time. But the silence was frustrating, and it made Victor worry.

They started off slow, skating lazy circles in the rink. Yuuri was immensely grateful that no one else was with them. He wasn't nearly as excited as he thought he'd be. He couldn't help but remember the way his skate blade cut him, the way the fever burned through him, the fire in his veins. Victor skated beside him, looking right at home. Yuuri tried to forget about the fact that Victor had been away from the rink for the same amount of time as him, tried not to think about all the lost training they both needed to make up. Lately, he was thinking of telling Victor to stop coaching him, so he could focus on his own career. It only seemed fair. After all, it was his own fault that they were both so far behind now.

Yuuri sped up a bit, testing the muscles in his legs. He was glad that he insisted on jogging with Victor for the past few weeks, so at least he wasn't starting completely from scratch. But all of the fear and anxiety he had been avoiding was bubbling right beneath the surface; he could feel it, as if it were tangible. And in a way, it was: it was the shaking of his hands that never seemed to completely go away, and the way his breaths were coming quicker and quicker.

Yuuri was just making the turn around the ice, Victor by his side. He curved his feet, and felt his skate blade carve a new groove into the ice.

Suddenly, the rink seemed to tilt to one side. His vision swam, and he lost his footing, crashing into the ice. He was on his hands and knees, heart beating so hard he thought it would leave a bruise. Panic spread through him like a wildfire. Breathing was hard, his chest felt too tight, his arms shook as he tried to hold himself together, and--

Someone was calling his name. "Yuuri, you're ok, just breathe, breathe with me."

Yuuri shook his head, breath coming in choking gasps that sounded like sobs. He couldn't stop, couldn't feel the ice under his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed it to _stop._

By now, Victor knew a panic attack when he saw one. It scared him, it always did, but he tried to keep it out of his voice. "Yuuri, my love, just breathe, ok? Everything's ok, you're ok." He took Yuuri's hand, gently, and placed it on his own chest, letting Yuuri feel his heartbeat. "Breathe with me."

Slowly, surely, Yuuri's breathing evened out. He stopped shaking, and his heart stopped trying to burst out of his chest.

Victor tightened his hold on Yuuri's hand as he calmed down. Relief flooded through him as he saw Yuuri open his eyes.

Yuuri's irrational fear finally subsided, leaving him feeling flustered and embarrassed. He refused to look at Victor. "Sorry," he muttered.

Victor cupped a gloved hand on Yuuri's cheek, saying nothing. Victor stood, not letting go of Yuuri's hand on his chest, pulling him up gently.

Victor began to lead them to the rink's exit. Yuuri pulled his hands back, confused. "Where are we going? We just got here."

Victor turned to him, expression incredulous. "You can't be serious. You just had a panic attack. We're going home."

Yuuri shook his head quickly, despair coursing through him. "No, it's fine, it was stupid, I'm fine--"

"You are _not fine!_ " Victor shouted. It made Yuuri jump. He wasn't sure if he had ever heard Victor shout like that before.

The angry tears from a few days ago returned, and they spilled over this time. "I've tried to give you space. I know you want to be alone right now. But you won't talk to me, and I can see that you're still suffering." He scrubbed at his eyes, sniffing. "I just want to take care of you, but you won't let me. I don't understand why, you won't tell me anything." His breath hitched at the end.

"Let's just go home and please, please, just _talk to me._ "

The broken sound in Victor's voice shattered Yuuri's heart. Yuuri had never expected this. He had been hurting Victor this whole time, and didn't even notice.

Yuuri skated over to Victor, putting his face in his hands and reaching up to kiss him softly. They hadn't kissed in so long. "Ok," he whispered.

* * *

They returned home in silence, taking a cab rather than walk the distance. When they got back, Yuuri settled himself on the couch, wrapping his arms around himself while Victor made tea. He came over with two steaming mugs, handing one to Yuuri and sat down on the other end of the couch.

They sat that way for a while, neither one of them breaking the silence. Yuuri was halfway through his tea before Victor finally spoke. "Tell me what's wrong. Please."

Yuuri put his mug on the coffee table, not trusting himself with holding it. He took a shuddering breath, and finally told Victor everything: how useless he felt, sitting at home; the building guilt he was harboring over holding Victor back in his own training; his anxiety about missing so much training. He told Victor about the fear that had been festering inside of him since his hospitalization: how could he trust his body anymore? How could he trust the ice, his place of refuge, when it now harbored these awful, terrifying feelings?

The words flooded out of his mouth. He told Victor about how isolated he felt because of their crazy schedules, how starved he was for Victor's attention, how he was so terrified of Victor leaving him.

He talked and talked. And Victor listened.

At some point, silent tears made their way down Victor's face. It almost made Yuuri stop. How many times was he going to make Victor cry?

When Yuuri was done, he was exhausted. His soul was laid bare for Victor to see. He'd been holding in all of his anxiety and guilt and pain for so long, he almost didn't know what to do now that it was out in the open.

Victor hastily rubbed the tears off his face. "Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was small, so much smaller than Yuuri had ever heard it.

Yuuri drew his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms around them. "I didn't want to burden you with my problems," he said, voice muffled in his legs. "They were stupid, I didn't want you to worry. I guess that didn't really work, huh?"

Victor made a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "No, not really."

He reached a hand out to Yuuri's face, turning it towards him. "I'm so sorry I made you feel that way. I'm sorry I made you feel like you had to hide these things from me. But Yuuri, we're together now. I want you to know that you can always, _always,_ talk to me about the things that are hurting you. Even if the thing hurting you is me."

Victor gently pushed Yuuri's knees away from his face, bringing him in for a soft and gentle kiss. Yuuri melted into it, putting a hand on Victor's cheek.

They pulled away after a moment, and Victor took Yuuri's hands in both of his. "I know you've been scared recently, but I want you to know that I'll never leave you, ever. I love you."

Yuuri's eyes widened. This was a milestone in their relationship that they hadn't hit yet...until now. Yuuri hadn't even been sure that Victor felt that way.

A new feeling swept through Yuuri, a feeling he hadn't felt in a very long time.

He leaned across their joined hands and kissed Victor again.

"I love you, too."

* * *

Recovery is slow, even in the best of times.

Despite their much needed conversation, Yuuri finds his anxiety does not magically leave him. He lies awake at night and wonders if Victor only told him that he loved him to assuage own his guilt. But now, instead of letting these toxic thoughts take root, he tells Victor about them. And Victor reassures him, as many times as he needs to hear it, that he loves him with all his heart.

He hasn't had a panic attack like the one at the rink, but sometimes he finds his hands shaking as he laces up his skates. Every now and then, he sees bruises on his body from training and can't stop the rush of terror that flows through him. Will something as minor as a bruise or a cut send him to the hospital again? Will he wake up and feel the infection coursing through him once more?

Victor is quick and liberal with his reassurances. He takes Yuuri in his arms and tells him that he's ok, that everything will be ok, and it helps.

Yuuri's physical recovery is easier. He goes to the doctor once to double check that the infection has completely cleared from his bloodstream, and is relieved when he's given the all clear. Soon after, he returns to the rink with Victor to resume their training. 

He is welcomed back with open arms from the Russian team. Mila fusses over him, making sure he's really alright and isn't pushing himself too hard. Georgi slaps him on the back with a good natured "It's about time!"

Yakov is gruff in his speech with him, but doesn't scold him much for being away for so long. "Don't think I'll take it easy on you, Katsuki. I will have to train you and Vitya twice as hard now to ensure you are both in shape in time for the competition season."

Yuuri smiles, glad to have Yakov's help. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

And then there's Yurio.

Yuuri feels a pang of guilt at seeing him, remembering bits and pieces of being taken to the hospital. They haven't spoken since then. Yurio won't meet his gaze and refuses to talk to him.

"Is he mad at me?" he asks Victor the day they return.

Victor sighs. "I think he’s just embarrassed. He was worried about you."

"Worried? About me?"

Victor takes Yuuri's hand, squeezing it gently. "You should have seen him when you were at the hospital." Victor shuts his eyes for a moment, the pain of the memory washing over him. "He was very scared. We both were."

Yuuri's guilt only increases at this. He wraps his arms around Victor, pulling him close.

Before their own training starts, he goes up to Yurio, who is taking a break by the bleachers.

"Hey, Yurio," he starts, but Yurio refuses to look at him, staring at his phone instead.

Yuuri fidgets, not sure what to say. "Yuri," he finally settles on, "I'm so sorry. About everything."

Yurio shoves his phone in his pocket, looking at Yuuri through his hair. "Whatever." He shrugs out of his jacket, leaving it in a pile behind him. "Just.....are you ok?" Yuuri can tell he's not just asking about his physical health.

Yuuri blinks, shocked. "I will be," he answers honestly.

This seems to be enough for Yurio, who nods once. "Don't think I'm going to take it easy on you just because you've been away for a while," he says furiously, stabbing an accusing finger at Yuuri. "I expect you to make it up to me by teaching me those step sequences of yours."

Yuuri grins, relieved. "Of course, Yurio."

"That's still not my name!"

* * *

Recovery is still not easy, or immediate. Yuuri still has days when his anxieties whisper things like _you're holding him back_ or _you're a failure, why are you even trying._ But after everything they've been through, Yuuri finds talking to Victor gets easier every time, and Victor's reassurances and whispers of " _I love you_ " help him on the particularly bad days.

Yuuri had long ago accepted that his anxieties are simply a part of him. Talking with Victor makes it easier to silence them, yes; but he knows they will probably never leave him. His fear about the ice is still there, as well, though it's more of a ghost of a feeling now. It also might be a part of him forever.

But he's beginning to realize that that might be ok, too.

So no, recovery is not easy. But with Victor by his side, Yuuri thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, there's that happy ending I promised!
> 
> Wow, it's finally finished! It's so exciting to finish a multi chapter fic, it's been too long. I hope you enjoyed it! I had a blast writing it, and I'm planning on more Yuri on Ice fics in the future, so I hope you'll look out for those!
> 
> Also, I'm sorry if I kind of skip over Yurio's part of this; obviously the focus was on Yuuri and Victor, so I didn't put as much time into Yurio's side of things. I'm thinking of writing a small addition to this story where we explore a bit more of Yurio and Otabek's perspectives...what do you guys think?
> 
> I wanted to take a moment to say a HUGE thank you to every single person who commented, left kudos, or bookmarked this story. I honestly wasn't sure what kind of reception I would get, and I'm not afraid to admit that this being my first YOI fic (and my first fic in like, 5 years) I was worried about how people would like it. But I've had so many wonderful comments about this story, I'm so happy :') :') and to everyone who finds this story after it's finished, thank you in advance!!
> 
> As always, comments and constructive criticism are appreciated and encouraged :)
> 
> I hope you'll check me out on [Tumblr](https://yuuri-nikiforever.tumblr.com/) as well! It's my baby YOI side blog so I'm still figuring some things out but I hope you'll drop by~ feel free to drop me a message/ask if you wanna chat about YOI or fanfiction or whatever.
> 
> See you all in the next story!!!


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